Falling In love At A Coffee Shop
by traumajunkie
Summary: Elena grew up in an unstable environment and vowed to never rely on anyone else. As Seattle's newest trauma surgeon, she's fiercely independent, and wondering what to do now that she's checked all of her 'to-do list' boxes. Damon abandoned a privileged life in search of something real. So what happens when they find each other, and can it be everything they wanted?
1. Chapter 1 -Love and Lattes

**By way of a quick intro/author's note: I've been mulling this idea in my head since Damon bought the loft in Seattle. I love to write, but have traditionally stuck to reality, blog-type style writing. (ER nurses have some pretty great stories ;) ) I'm pretty green to the fiction-writing scene, but there's three things I _do_ know well. Seattle, trauma, and well… bar tenders :) So I think this could be a little bit fun. I have the first few chapters written, so updates should be pretty regular. This first chapter is really more of a prologue, but in the interest of keeping my OCD at bay, we'll call it chapter one to coordinate with the chapter title/lists on this little website. All constructive criticism welcome. Is that dangerous to say? Haha! Well… let's jump in! :))))**

I always knew I'd end up here. Like this. Or at least I'd like to think I did. There was a place near where I grew up that I'd pass every day on my way home from school. Ivy-covered saffron-stucco walls, a second floor balcony with delicate green wrought-iron casing, tall white latticed french doors, and flowing white drapes gave the aura of an embrace from a warm summer breeze. The space outside the building always smelled a little like blueberries and something my 8 year-old mind couldn't name, but that felt like absolution. There were shutters to match the dark green of the iron-wrapped stoop and Ivy trickled down from the ceramic roof tiles like Jiminy Cricket himself floated down with his umbrella tacking on ivy as he went. Ever so gently in a side-to-side pattern that was pure magic.

Every day I'd walk past and I'd dream. I'd dream that I was the princess that lived in this castle and the world below was my kingdom. I'd dream that as I stood on my fairy-tale balcony one day my prince would come walking by, glance up at me, we'd fall madly in love-at-first-sight and of course live happily ever after. That was back when I believed in fairy tales. Back before it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, reality could be so much better… or worse.

As I grew older I realized my beloved balcony and ivy-coated castle was a coffee shop. Small white tables and chairs sat on brick-lined patios, shaded by magnolia trees that stood guard over the patrons below. At the right time of day, just after 5pm the sunlight hit those trees at precisely the right angle to cast a patterned-golden blanket on the sidewalk below. The evening breeze -as reliable as the sun rising each day- paired with the golden glow spoke to my soul in a way that I'm not sure I can adequately describe to this day. This coffee shop was my escape.

I could come here and be enough. I could come here and not be an orphan. I could be a girl who had parents that were still alive, or at least a girl who had foster parents that remembered her name. For an hour or so each day I could come and not worry about where I was going to live next week, or if I was good enough to stay at whichever house I was at. I could be a girl who was going places. Who didn't need to rely on a single other soul. I could come here for an hour or more every day and dream of my escape. Plan my exit strategy from a life of uncertainty and reliance on other people

When I turned 15 I applied for my first summer job. I worked in a 5x8 foot box without air conditioning making snow cones. It wasn't all that bad, it got me out of the house and most importantly earned me a paycheck. I allowed myself one treat from my very first paycheck. Everything else was put straight into savings. My dreams were going to take a lot of money in addition to hard work. But first? Coffee. I walked into my fairy-tale coffee shop, handed over five of my hard earned dollars, and walked out with a steaming cup of heaven.

I sat down on a little white chair at a little white table in that golden-hour sunshine, raised the mug to my face, smiled as the smell of sweet coffee beans and sugar drifted up my nose, and closed my eyes in a moan as the sweet concoction washed over my tongue and warmed it's way down my throat. It was the first time I ever fell in love if I'm being honest. I had fallen hopelessly in love with a vanilla-almond latte. I was a goner. Of course these days there are two or three extra shots of espresso added in the mix. I've cut down significantly since college. None the less, espresso and milk in combination is essentially the longest relationship I'd ever had.

Every happy memory from my childhood was on that quiet little street. Every piece of sunshine. Every dream that turned into a plan, I envisioned there. Every moment of zen and calm. My obsession with coffee shops started early and has never waned. There's a cork board hanging above my desk at home that's covered in a collage of pictures. Snapshots of me and random friends at coffee shops in cities all around the world.

There's only one pic missing. The polaroid I'm holding in my hands now. It's my favorite. Good looking couple, don't you think? Yes, that's me on the left staring a-gasp at the handsome laughing asshole sitting next to me. It's from our first date. And it's the exact moment I knew I was hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with Damon Salvatore. In short, I was fucked. Let me back up. We may have had out first date there but there's a bit more to the story.


	2. Chapter 2 -Sparking a Challenge

**Well, hello again! Thanks for reading! Let's get into the actual story now shall we? A couple notes. The POV will switch throughout the story and unless things change in future editing, some chapters will even toggle back and forth within themselves. This one is purely Damon (fun fact, it's SO much easier for me to write from inside his head!), but in the future I'd like to think that I can get the voice across well enough that you'll figure it out without me having to spell it out for you who you're hearing from. You're smart people ;) Speaking of, it goes without saying that while I love these characters, they are not my own. I own nothing related to these characters or the show they're from. Do I have to explicitly state that every time? Serious question... Anyways... on to what you came here to read.**

"Dude. Just go over there. You're sure as shit not doing me any favors being here."

Hmm… Had I been that obvious? Apparently. I glance down to the box of tumblers I'd been unpacking and noticed that I've managed to get five of the eighteen out of their slots in the box. Five tumblers unpacked over the last… 45 minutes? Not bad.

"I can't leave you to unpack the rest of this shit by yourself. What kind of a publican would I be?"

His cocked eyebrow gets his point across nicely as he tosses the box that used to contain Pappy Van Winkle's Family Reserve 20 Year bourbon. The empty box lands with a thud on the pile of other empty cardboard boxes. He'd unburdened all of them of their alcoholic contents while I was –polishing- the five tumblers in front of me.

"A) For the last time, this is a bar, not a pub. We are not in Ireland. You are the distinguished owner of what I'm sure will soon be the biggest hot-spot bar in the Pacific Northwest. You're no more a publican than you are a _re_ publican. B) If you don't go talk to tall, tanned, and toned over there I'm going to. Just to spite you. Then Jenna will get mad again and $5000 of a new paraglider will go to waste this weekend while I stay home mowing the lawn."

He's right. But it's not my fault that his girlfriend couldn't handle him flirting with other women for the sole purpose of winning a probably ill-advised bet. Nor is it my fault that he is incapable of backing down from a challenge or a competition. It's why we get along so well.

"Fine, but we both know you'd no more go over there than slice your left nut open." I pull the rag from my right back pocket and toss it on the polished mahogany. He chuckles as I leave because he knows I'm right.

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I stretch my left arm across my chest which pulls the left corner of my v-neck from my jeans as the heavy wooden door swings shut behind me. The evening sun cuts low across the sky casting that perfect golden glow through the trees glinting with a perfection that is uniquely Seattle. It's unseasonably warm, even for September, but the crisp breeze whispers that the sunny warm days are numbered.

The coffee shop has black iron trim holding in walls of windows. The patio I'd been staring at for the majority of the afternoon is contained by black iron posts under a thin wooden bar that patrons can set their caffeinated beverages on. Several black tables and chairs also hang out under red umbrellas, the Fix Coffee logo printed discreetly on each. The vibe is sleek. Modern. Very Greenlake, and the same relaxed, clean, sleek, and classy vibe I hope to bring to my bar. The smell of warm pastries drifts under my nose carried by the breeze as I jump from the crosswalk onto the sidewalk outside the patio area.

Sitting at a table near the outside corner of the patio is the woman I've been staring at for the better part of the afternoon. Alaric's description of tall, tan, and toned is pretty damn accurate. Her long legs are crossed at the ankles and half tucked under her chair. A light-colored sundress hits her toned thighs and skims up over her slender figure, clinging to her petite shoulders with thin white straps. The muscles of her neck stretch to meet perfect and well-defined collar bones, and her smooth shoulders stick out in a way that lends air of sheer confidence. Her left elbow rests on the table, long fingers supporting her forehead as she leans over a small mountain of paperwork and what appears to be a textbook the size of Texas. She twirls a pen around the fingers of her right hand in a way that is almost hypnotizing. I don't even think she realizes she's doing it. Long rich mahogany hair is draped around her left shoulder in soft waves. Long side-swept bangs brush past the fingertips supporting her forehead, brow furrowed in concentration.

The hand twirling the pen stops briefly to reach for the cup near the book she's leaned over. She absently lifts the straw between two soft pink lips. My mouth goes dry and I can't lift my gaze from those lips as she gently sucks, an empty rattling sound coming from the bottom of her cup. The slight hallowing of her cheeks makes my jeans a bit more snug, almost uncomfortable. She pulls the straw out of her mouth, frowning at the cup that had the nerve to be devoid of anything liquid and shakes it gently rattling the ice just for good measure. She sighs, unfolds her legs, sets the cup down preparing to stand. Perfect timing. Thanks universe.

"Can I get you a refill?" My voice sounds like I haven't spoken for seven years, my mouth is so dry. I clear my throat and attempt a smile.

She lifts her head and her eyes lock with mine. Holy hell. I couldn't look away if the lives of drowning puppies depended on it. Her eyes are perfect, almond-shaped and the deepest most-rich color… brown is too plain a word. I don't think a word exists for the color I'm drowning in. Little gold flecks light up as she squints up at me shielding her eyes from the sunlight behind me.

She smiles politely and I can tell I'm not going to like what comes out of her mouth, so I cut her off with "Wait, lemme guess." I have an uncanny knack for this. That and my signature smirk put me through college as a bartender. I glance over her face, taking in her furrowed brow and the mountain of paperwork on the small table and confidently continue, "Hazelnut macchiato, iced obviously… with an extra shot of espresso."

Her expression goes blank for a brief moment before a smile creeps up her face. "You're good. But I actually need to be going." She stands and Alaric wasn't wrong, she's tall. Maybe half a foot shorter than my 6' 2" frame? The features of her face seem even more petite up close. There's a slight pink flush to her cheeks, prominently paralleled above a perfectly angled jawline. She turns to gather the mass of paperwork covering the table and I try one more time, extending my hand "I'm Damon."

She glances back up at me, slightly put off at my persistence, but with a hint of an amused smile. She folds her delicate fingers in mine as she says, "Nice to meet you Damon, but I've really got to go."

I gently squeeze her hand before letting it go slowly, my fingertips clinging to hers as long as possible. "That's unfortunate, I was really looking forward to a little distraction and break from my day." I punctuate my statement with a pout that has a 99% return rate on-

"I don't have a lot of time in my life for distractions right now, as flattering as that is." Ooh, she seems… angry? Is that what that look is? It's hot. I file that away for later. Anger is not what I'm aiming for right now, but I would love to put that look on her face again later. Does that sound wrong? Sue me. She's beautiful at baseline she's fucking phenomenal when she's angry.

"Nonononononono, not like that." I clarify, raising my hands in self defense. "Time out for five minutes. I've just been working all morning and was going to take a little coffee break. You turned out to be an incredible bonus. I see that you're busy now, how about dinner? Can I take you to dinner sometime..." I leave the question hanging in hopes that she will insert her name.

No dice. She half smiles, tucks a silky strand of hair behind her ear and says, "I really don't date Damon. But thank you." She stacks the pile of papers in front of her and neatly tucks them into a tan messenger bag I hadn't noticed until now. Her head tilts to the side slightly as she glances up at me nodding a bit as she picks up the giant book left on the table. There's got to be 40lbs of paper in her arms.

"Can I help you carry something?" I don't know why I'm still trying. For the love of god, the perky blonde waitress has been making googly eyes at me since I walked across the street. I'm not usually the type to pass up a sure thing. I'm also not the type to back away from a challenge… maybe that's what it is. The challenge. Either way…

She raises both eyebrows, smiles slightly as though she finds this funny, and assures me, "I've got it. Thanks." She steps to the side to move around me.

"You're welcome..." after a pregnant pause I state, "This is the part where you insert your name."

"Oh, it that how conversation works? Thanks for enlightening me kind sir. Jesus. Here's the thing. I've got a lot going on in my life. I've got plans tonight. I dislike being late. Even if none of these things were true, I don't have to tell you my name, or have coffee with you, or stroke your ego in any way. So you can stop with the flirty little comments and that eye thing that you do. Have a nice night Damon."

I can only stare, mouth agape, half flabbergasted, half turned on. I recover enough to quip, "Catch you next time then?" as she brushes past me and turns down the street. She tosses a glance over her shoulder as she walks away that is pure exasperated sass, shakes her head to herself, and continues down the street. I can't help but appreciate the way her sundress floats over her hips and swirls around around her thighs as she strides away from me.

"What can I get you sugar?" The bubbly blonde waitress asks. I look down, surprised to find her standing close and looking up at me through her overly-mascara-ed eyelashes.

"Hmm," I smirk and she giggles shyly, biting her right thumbnail. That's more like it. Why does it feel so much less satisfying now? "Can I get a cold brew to go, cream, no sugar?"

"Anything else?"

"That'll do-" I glance at her name tag, "Callie. Thank you." I smile again, just for effect, and she scampers off to get my coffee. I sit at the bar slash rail on the patio and prepare myself for the roasting that will happen at the hands of Alaric as soon as I walk back in the bar.

He doesn't disappoint, and I take it good-naturedly as we work for another hour or so unpacking the rest of the boxes. It actually moves pretty fast when neither of us are distracted by a sassy siren across the street. Ok, you're right that was just me. But the point is, we finish in plenty of time for me to make it to the last thing on my to-do list for the day. And the thing I've been dreading since I agreed to go. Freaking yoga. That's right. Stay tuned. This should be interesting.

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You have got to be fucking kidding me. Is this real? My karma with the universe has got to be turning around. As soon as I walk through the door to the yoga studio I'm being semi-forced to go to, my eyes are immediately drawn to the most perfect pair of tan shoulders I have ever seen. I know that olive-toned skin. I spent the better part of two hours today staring at that skin. Much to the chagrin of Alaric. But that guy can just fucking deal with it because LOOK at her! Besides. I'm injured. I shouldn't be expected to shoulder the burden of unpacking the bar. No pun intend-

"Grab two blocks and a strap"

-Hahfgkdls;ajgkls;a –did I just hear her correctly? Apparently I didn't keep my snicker to myself because there's one poignantly-raised perfect eyebrow pointed in my direction. See that look on her face? The one that lets me know she want's to set the hairs on my arms on fire? That's a look I'm used to from women… shocking, I know. So why does this one make my dick raise his head to investigate further? Like I said, I've never been one to back down from a challenge. Game on.

"Elena, I presume." The biggest smirk of the day on my face. Her face sours, her pouty lips tighten into a thin line. But see that fire that flares in her eyes? She likes a challenge as well. And _that_ I can work with. Bless the yoga gods for having the teacher names attached to the class schedule.

"Damon." Her tone earns her a questioning glance from the other gal behind the desk. She recovers well though. A forced smile takes over her face. "Are you lost?"

"Actually _Elena,"_ I can't help the smirk that comes over my face as her name rolls off my tongue. "It would appear I've found a few things I was looking for." Her fake smile falls and her eyes prepare to roll before I add "I'm here on doctor's orders. Yoga therapy 101."

"Your therapist is incorporating yoga into your socialization therapy? Interesting."

"Au contraire ma belle." I swear to god she almost grins. At least with the left side of her mouth. The sassy upturn of that one side of her mouth does interesting things to my gut. "I assure you, I 'socialize' quite well… if you change your mind, I'll be more than happy to show you. But for now, in the interest of not being late for my first ever yoga class-"

"Shit!" She exclaims glancing at the clock and jumping off her stool. "Cherise will get you all signed in, I'll see you in there." A hint of a genuine smile accompanies the sassy smirk to her face as she tosses over her shoulder, "Don't forget -two blocks and a strap."

"My shoulder," I call after her. She half turns and I offer a silent cursed grumble to the inventor of the towel. She has one wrapped around her from her chest to her thighs. Which are covered in a pair of skin tight black yoga pants with what looks like a tree printed up the outside of her left leg. "Dock injury last year," I say absently rubbing the front of the shoulder in question. Her gaze falls to the hand massaging my shoulder and she nods silently, turning around and disappearing into what I'm assuming is a locker room.

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A chalkboard hangs on the outside of the door to the class with a scripted 'Yin w/music ˞Elena' followed by '8:00-9:00pm.' One hour. I was already apprehensive about spending an hour stretching the shoulder that had limited so much of my life over the past year. Then I walk into the studio and the deep chocolate doe-eyes of the sassy coffee shop goddess greet me? I'm still trying to decide if the universe thinks this is funny or is blessing me for my good behavior in the past. You're right, it's probably the former.

My borrowed mat and towel are balanced in my left arm, leaving my good arm free to pull open the door to my own personal heaven or hell for the next hour. On the one hand, my physical therapist is convinced this will help my sore shoulder regain the range of motion I lost in the accident. On the other hand, if I've learned anything in physical therapy it's that progress can be a painful son of a bitch. Let's not even talk about the fact that _Elena_ –god, even thinking her name makes me grin- is in charge of this torture.

I take a resolved step into the classroom and am surprised by the number of people inside. Everyone has their requisite blocks and straps next to the top corner of their mats -laid out like a multi-colored checkerboard across the room. They're all lying eyes-closed with their feet toward the back of the room. Weird. The lights are dim, and it is hot. I feel like I'm walking into a toaster oven as the door swings closed behind me. It's oddly comforting though. Interesting. I'm also surprised by the absence of smell in the room. I guess I just figured with the all the sweaty hipsters that must come in and out of this place it would smell bad. Or at least like patchouli. There's the faintest hint of something vaguely waxy, -like the smell of those candles you used to light your Halloween jack-o-lanterns with when you were five. But it smells clean.

I find an empty spot for my borrowed mat -near the middle of the room and unroll it as instructed, the top left corner lining up with markings on the floor. I weave my way back around closed-eyed strangers to get the strap and two blocks to bring back to my mat. The strap looks like a strap you'd put around luggage and the blocks look like brick-colored cinder-blocks. They're surprisingly light as air. I sit down cross-legged on my mat facing the mirror and look around. The more I glance around the room the more it creeps me out to be honest. I mean, they look dead. Did I miss the memo on pre-class nap time?

Before I can become more unnerved I'm distracted by the sliver of light that bathes the room as the door opens. I glance over and suddenly the hot room feels a whole lot hotter. I lock eyes with Elena and all complaints about the heat leave my mind. I must be grinning because she offers a small lopsided grin in return before walking to the front of the classroom. My gaze travels down the profile of her face, skimming over her long neck, slender and yet well-toned shoulders, and jesus fucking christ. What is she wearing?

It's like a bikini only instead of two strings that tie, there's about five coming from each side and criss-crossing over the middle of her back between two prominent shoulder blades. And instead of triangles on front, its like a small sports bra. Miles of bare skin span from the bottom of that top over well defined abs, a waist I could easily close two hands around, and the beginning of hips I want to hold on to and never let go. The low waistband of her black spandex pants sits a few inches below her belly button. And LORD. I feel cheated earlier. She was sitting the majority of the time we talked at the coffee shop. I've always considered myself an ass man, and this one might be the –scratch that- IS the nicest one I've ever laid eyes on. I have no words for what her perfect ass is doing to me inside those pants. God bless the inventor of spandex. Seriously. It's round, it's tight, I'd bet good money I could actually bounce a quarter off it, and all I wanna do is…

"Good evening everybody," She interrupts my thoughts of how well her ass would fit in my hands. One long finger presses play on the ipod plugged into the stereo and the guitar strumming of James Bay fills the room. My gaze traces almost involuntarily up from that finger up long, lean, well-defined arms and up into her face. She's staring back at me. She doesn't look happy. Shit. Caught red handed. What are ya gonna do. I smirk, shrugging my shoulders slightly. She rolls her chocolate brown eyes before centering her gaze on me again as she instructs "If you're not there already, _everybody_ make your way to savasana, head toward the mirrors, stretch your feet out toward the back wall."

Fine. I acquiesce. I'm the only one sitting upright and facing the front of the room, so it's safe to assume she means me. I pull my knees up, spin around on my tailbone and lay down on my back, closing my eyes, and mimicking the rest of the people in the room. I get lost in the melodic quality of her voice and forget to pay attention to what she's actually saying until I notice people are moving around me. I scramble to roll over and rest on my hands and knees and vow to focus on the actual content and instruction coming out of her mouth for the next hour.

"From your hands and knees place one block under each hand, shoulder-width apart. Leaving your knees where they are place one elbow atop each block and lower yourself down until your hips rest on your ankles. You should feel this stretch in your armpits and outsides of your shoulders. If you're especially tight in your shoulders, make sure you focus on your breath and don't sit back to the point of pain. We're going to be here for a good while, the time will be the depth, so don't go too deep at first."

Don't go too deep at first? Is she serious? No one else appears to be chuckling so I doubt the 'That's not what you said last night' would earn me any points in this particular setting. It's official. This is hell and this woman is satan herself. The underside of my arms are on fire, my left one in particular. The muscles up and down my entire left upper body are groaning in protest. How long did she say we were gonna be here?

All logical thought is wiped from my mind when I feel her cool fingertips touch the base of my neck, her other hand gently resting on my left shoulder. Cooling heat and electricity radiate down my back and up my arms in a way that has nothing to do with the stretch I'm in. It's soothing. Nice.

"Relax your shoulders away from your ears, soften your neck," she almost whispers, crouching down beside me. The muscles on the sides of my neck immediately do as she commands, without conscious effort from me. The strain on my injured left shoulder is instantly cooled. "Good," she whispers quietly. Satan is good. Her fingers seem to linger just a moment longer than necessary as she stands and I feel more so than see her move away. Sweet baby Jesus, I have no idea how I'm going to survive the rest of this class, but I can't wait to find out.

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I rub the towel quickly through my jet-black hair one more time for good measure. I'm pleasantly surprised by how good I feel. I made it through not only the five minute hold of that first pose but the rest of the class. It wasn't easy, but like I said, I don't back down from a challenge. And when we got around to the broken wing and crushed wing poses I put that stance to the test. Who comes up with these names anyways? The only one I cared to remember the official name for was the last one. Savasana. The one I initially mocked everyone for being in before class started. By the time we were done with class I could have laid there forever, content to not move a muscle.

My physical therapist might just be on to something with this yoga idea. I make a mental note to apologize for my skepticism next time I see her as I pull my dark grey v-neck t-shirt across my chest and down an abdomen that I'm proud to say still sports a six-pack of defined muscle. I button my fly, slide the belt through it's clasp, toss my bag over my good shoulder and head out of the locker room. I make it out to the wood panel-lined lobby and linger near the white couches in the lounge area. Elena is talking to a couple guys I recognize from the class. She laughs at something the blonde one says and puts her hand on his forearm. Jealousy creeps up my chest. It's not a feeling I'm familiar with, and I don't like it.

"Thanks for coming guys, it was great to see you again! Make sure you let me know about Sunday."

"Will do Elena. Good to see you again too. Great class as always," the one with the dark hair replies as they walk out the door.

"What's Sunday?" I ask as I walk up behind her –it comes out sounding more jealous than I'd care to admit. She startles at my question and clutches at the towel that's once again wrapped around her chest on top of the magic yoga string top.

"Jesus! Creeper much?" She narrows her gaze at me briefly then softens into a smirk that I quite enjoy. "How do you feel?" She inquires almost enthusiastically.

"Really good actually! I'm surprised. Now, what's Sunday?"

"I'm catching my first baseball game. They're trying to do a whole Sunday funday at some place called Henry's Tavern. Apparently it's across from Safeco Field. I'm just going to meet them at the game. I've been told I could use a five minute break or two so..." she trails off, holding her hands up like an adorable scale.

"I thought you didn't date," I quip shortly. The corners of my mouth are turned down in almost a scowl.

"I don't, Casanova. And not that it's any of your business but Matt is one of my oldest friends from back home. He's married now with new twins at home and I know Tyler from work. He's also dating my best friend who's organizing this little get together. Am I allowed to go now dad?"

My mood perks up instantly. "How 'bout this. Come to the game with me instead on Sunday. I'm so much more fun. I'll even let you come to unlimited beer on tap beforehand. And lunch. With pickles." I throw in my signature smirk for good measure. Women are powerless against my baby blue-

"No chance in hell buddy."

Wait, what? I just stare at her in disbelief.

"I'm sure they'd 'let' me come to lunch if I wanted, but I have plans. And again, I. Don't. Date." She says slowly as if speaking to a small child with a developmental delay.

I recover fairly quickly. Clearly our paths keep intersecting, and I'm just not willing to let this go until her perfect abs are naked underneath mine. Or on top. That could be fun too. I doubt she'd appreciate me telling her so, so I half smile as I reply. "Hmm. Well, thanks for class Elena. See you soon." And I walk out the door onto 71st St, heading toward home.

You're not surprised I'm walking away are you? You shouldn't be. A good general knows when to retreat –take a brief pause and regroup before the next battle. And like I said, I'm not letting this one go.

I get about halfway to Woodlawn Ave before I am stopped cold by a gentle hand on my left elbow and a soft, "Damon wait..."

No way. I turn around and two dark molten eyes are looking up at me. She pulls her hand away quickly. "Really, how is your shoulder? Does it feel ok?"

"Honestly? It's a little numb right now, but it feels better than it has for a long while."

"Rotator cuff, right? Subscapularis?"

How in the hell did she know that? That's twice today this woman has left me speechless. I blink twice and offer a surprised, "What exactly do they teach you in yoga teacher class?"

"Ha!" She smiles. It's officially my new favorite thing. "You'd be surprised Damon." Ok, I take that back. Her saying my name without scathing derision is my new favorite thing. "Get some good sleep tonight, and don't skimp on the ice tomorrow." She turns and starts walking back to the studio.

"Hey Elena," I call after her. "Wanna go grab a drink and talk about my secret pain?" I'm only half kidding.

I think she might actually be silently giggling as she looks back over her shoulder with a slight shake of her head, but all I hear back is "Goodnight Damon."

Goodnight, Elena. Goodnight. I can't wipe the smile from my face, so I walk the rest of the way home grinning like an idiot. And I'm not mad about it at all.

 **Well... What do we think? I'd love to hear from you :) Shoot me a quick thought here or on twitter delenaRN321**


	3. Chapter 3 -The Grind

**Hi all! Happy Wednesday :) I really wanted to have the chapter I'm working on done before I posted this one, but my muse seems to be taking an extended vaca. Don't worry, it'll clear up ;) This chapter will dive into life as a trauma surgeon just a bit. If that's not you're thing, hang in there. There may be a treat at the end :)**

I flip the dead bolt behind me with one hand as I kick my shoes off into the corner. My bag is tossed on the counter, shirt off, pants off, bra off, hair up, shorts and cami on, and BAM I'm horizontal on the couch. No longer than 30 seconds into my apartment. I've perfected this art down to a science. I take a deep breath and –aw shit. You'd think as a trauma surgeon I'd make it a priority to empty my bladder before getting on the road. It only takes a few ruptured-bladders-post-car-accidents to rub that one into your brain. This Seattle traffic is no joke either. My excuse today? What's the word that means more than complete and total exhaustion? Whatever the word is, that's it.

It feels good though. This deep bone tired feeling. And the fact that I can say the words, 'as a trauma surgeon'? How great is that? An involuntary grin spreads across my face as I settle back onto my couch and let out a long sigh, becoming one with the cushions. I pull my beloved cashmere throw over my legs and up to my chin. The faint smell of clean laundry clings to the soft fabric and feels like an extra hug. My gaze blurs on the ceiling above me and I briefly ponder turning on the TV, before I decide to stick with the comfort of silence.

Silence is a rare commodity for me these days. The 22 hours I've been awake have been a continual soundtrack of beeping, alarming, yelling, sirens, the calming buzz of a sternal saw, the gooey slurping sound of a sucking chest wound…

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"Code trauma, alert one. Code trauma, alert one. Code trauma, alert one."

The voice is mechanical. Calm. Almost soothing. In a way that completely belies the urgency of the meaning behind her words. A pavlovian tightening takes hold of my gut fueled by adrenaline as I fly down the eight flights of stairs to the ER. It's a tightening born of excitement. My body's conditioned response of 'let's do this.' It's invigorating. I burst out of the stairwell into the trauma hallway already buzzing with the crowd of people ready to take on the sickest-of-the-sick, the most injured of the injured. A level one trauma means the whole crew is here. I'm pretty sure when people say 'it takes a village' they are traditionally talking about raising children. Well, a village has nothing on this trauma team. The best part for me? Today I'm the ruling queen.

Take a look at the village assembling. At the far end of the hallway, just past the wall of windows are a row of pegs that reminds me of a kindergarten coat rack. Heavy lead shields in varying sizes hang from the pegs and are being pulled off the rack like toys at a toy store on the day after Thanksgiving. I grab my own and throw it over my shoulders, the bottom skirting my knees. The velcro wraps around behind me like those fake pregnancy bellies you've seen on tv. A fluid-resistant yellow gown layers on top of the lead, my surgical cap keeps my hair contained, I cover my face with a mask attached to a clear protective splash-shield over my eyes. I pull on my trauma booties, that are less like booties and more like shallow waders used for fishing. They cover my shoes and all the way up and over my scrub pants to the elastic that clings to the top of my calfs. I grab a pair of gloves as I walk into the rapidly filling room. Pulling them on over the sleeves of my yellow gown, I take my spot on the right side of the room near the head of the stretcher and scan my eyes around the space.

A well-run trauma is like a coordinated and well choreographed dance of chaos. It's organized and beautiful. At the head of the bed John is adjusting the settings of the ventilator. Making sure all systems are go in respiratory-therapy land. On the far side of the room my favorite phlebotomist Nick is setting up the iStat machines and laughing with gal from the blood bank who's name I can never remember. She's clutching her red cooler full of un-crossmatched blood products. Viet is the pharmacist hanging out in the top left corner taking a quick inventory of medications; sedatives, paralytics, antibiotics, narcotics, check, check, check, and check. Next to him Courtney is setting up the chest tube tray and making sure the thoracotomy tray is handy just in case. A clanging rumble announces the arrival of the x-ray tech and his cart of blank film plates; Dustin pops his head in to wave hello and confirm his presence to Chase who's the tech sitting at the 'recorder' table in the opposite corner of the room from me. Chase is responsible for charting the names and roles of everyone in the room as well as the verbal diarrhea of assessments and procedures that will be announced in real-time as the patient arrives. The gang's almost all here. All that's missing is-

"Oh my god you're on today?! I thought you were off! Don't you have boards on Monday?!" Bonnie squeals with a little dance as she jumps in to the room.

"Hey B! You know I can't stay away from this place that long." I laugh. "They're making me take tomorrow off, but you're stuck with me today."

"Well my day's looking up already!" She's untangling the cords to the monitor that will be attached to the patient when they land on the stretcher in the center of the room. In the short time I've been here, Bonnie has become my favorite trauma nurse. Girl's a total badass. If there were to be an olympics in all things emergency/trauma related this girl would be the Michael Phelps.

Close behind her Adam and Meredith entered the room tying their requisite yellow gowns and are now standing a few feet away from me. Adam will be the second nurse assigned to the trauma, basically in charge of running the mass transfusion protocol. Meredith, Dr. Fell, is the ER doc assigned to the case.

"Does anybody know what's coming in?" Meredith asks as she snaps her gloves into place.

Right on cue, the ER charge nurse strolls in with the medic report sheet in his hand. "Hey guys. Everybody here?" He glances around taking a mental roll-call before continuing, "Twenty-one year old male, motorcycle vs SUV, was wearing his helmet, but got thrown from the bike off the edge of the viaduct. Intubated, near amputation of right leg, obvious deformity to both arms, flail chest. Five minutes out." As he lists the known injuries, things shift slightly around the room. Courtney opens a second chest tube tray, John pushes the intubation tray behind the ventilator, and Meredith slides out of the room to just outside the doors –the patient is already intubated so she'll likely head back to the emergency department once the patient arrives.

My gaze wanders through the open door of the trauma bay and to the view from the wall of windows just outside. I don't see the scene ever getting old. The wall of windows that lines the trauma bay hallway faces west over the Puget sound, looking out toward Alki Beach. I'm told the sunny days in Seattle are numbered and that soon the clouds will take over but the sky outside this morning is crystal clear and the most spectacular shade of blue. A steady strip of green lies just this side of the cerulean waters of Elliot Bay. Even from inside you can feel the crisp clean breeze, and warm glow of the sunshine that is glittering off the water as the sun rises over the Cascade Mountains behind us.

The heat from the room starts to penetrate through the layers of clothing I'm wearing. Who knew when I started taking hot yoga classes in college it would be good training for a trauma room?! Our trauma bays are kept at a toasty 90 degrees, which is 10-20 degrees cooler and significantly less humid than the yoga studio. Then again, in the yoga studio you weal significantly clothing. And the clothing you do wear is breathable with quick-dry technology. Not lead lined and fluid resistant (read: non-breathable). Really, it's a wash. Speaking of yoga...

My trip down memory lane is cut off before it begins when the screech of the ambulance bay door opening carries down the hall. Medic One wheels my first patient of the day into the waiting trauma bay. They pull their stretcher alongside ours and stop, locking the breaks. The lead paramedic continues squeezing the ambu-bag, breathing for the patient as he looks over to me. Let's do this.

"Gentleman! What did you bring us?" I give them permission to begin. Jim, the lead paramedic, starts his short report. The only sound other than his voice in the room is the steady pushing and pulling of air caused by the bag-valve attached to the tube coming from the patients mouth. Well, that and the sweet sweet sound of a sucking chest would that puts my excited adrenalin on overdrive. Let's be clear about one thing –it's not that I want people to get hurt, I just want to be the trauma surgeon at the hospital when they do. This kid is someone's son. Someone's brother. Someone's friend. If I do my job right, he get's his best chance to get back to being all those things.

"Alright team, let's move him over. On the count of three..." I count to three and the team of paramedics, techs, and nurses at the bedside gently move the patient to our gurney and all hell breaks loose. At least that's what I'm sure you're thinking. Seven thousand things are happening at once. I begin my primary survey, speaking loudly and clearly to Chase and the entire team as I go.

"Airway is patent and secured. ET tube 23cm at the lip, flail chest noted with respirations, gaping wound to left chest, central pulses present and thready. No gross deformity palpable to skull, maxilla stable. Peripheral pulses absent, gross bleeding noted from near amputation of right leg, open fracture deformity noted to right forearm, left humerus, and left femur. Abdomen is rigid with bruising noted to umbilicus." As I continue, Bonnie and Adam secure three large IVs, hand the blood work off to Nick who begins the testing on the iStat machines to get me results almost immediately. The monitors are attached, a continual recording of the patients vital signs and heart rhythm displayed on the big screen TV behind me.

Courtney is tying a tourniquet to the remaining stump of the nearly amputated leg to control the bleeding until we get to the OR. Adam coordinates with blood-bank gal to start the mass-blood transfusion protocol at my order. The emergency medicine intern is getting a central line for additional large-vessel intravenous access as I insert chest tubes in first the left, then the right lungs. The gaping wound to the left chest is covered with a dressing that is occlusive on three sides, leaving a flutter valve to allow air to escape. This effectively puts an end to the gurgling sucking sound of the chest wound, and adds the sound of a nice soft exhale to the cacophony of beeps and dings of the monitors and the whooshing of the ventilator. The chest x-ray that was shot after the insertion of the second chest tube is projected on the large x-ray screen to my left. A quick glance lets me confirm that the ET tube, central line, and both chest tubes are in adequate position.

"Alright folks, let's head to CT for a trauma-gram, x-ray, when we get back I want plain films of the left humerus, bilateral forearms, bilateral femur's, and left tib/fib. Let's move!" En-mass we head to the designated trauma CT-scanner. The trauma-gram is code for CT scans of the head, neck, chest, abdomen/pelvis both with and without contrast, and reconstructed views of the thoracic and lumbar spines. I start my mental cataloging of the procedures he'll need once we hit the OR doors as I watch the images pop up on the CT scan computers. Assuming the chest tubes remain uncomplicated, we'll be able to start with the exploratory laparoscopy and splenectomy for that ruptured spleen I just noted, and holy shit that grade-4 liver lac… scratch the x-rays, they can wait. We're going straight to the OR.

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Coffee. More coffee. I'd survived ten hours without it, but now it's time. I have a steaming cup of sugary creamy caffeinated deliciousness in each hand as I walk out of the surgeons lounge and head toward the ER. I get to the break room just in time. Bonnie flops down on the couch and throws her feet up on the table. I follow suit. Handing her one of the lattes.

"What a day huh?"

"Yeah, it trauma season almost over? I mean it's gonna be flu season sometime soon right?" Is Bonnie's reply. In the emergency department it's either trauma season (summer) or flu season (winter). Each one is their own special version of hell. She takes a sip of her latte, moans, and continues, "But first, I wanna hear all about yoga last night! I'm so bummed I couldn't make it. Tyler has been bringing us patients all day and said it was great!"

"It was… interesting." Her eyebrows raise. "Just wait until I tell you-"

"Dr. Gilbert, Shock/Trauma ICU stat. Dr. Gilbert, Shock/Trauma ICU stat." I'm interrupted before I can tell her about the dark haired blue eyed stranger that I haven't been able to stop thinking about.

"No rest for the wicked," I groan.

"Don't pretend you don't love it."

She's correct. I can't stop the grin that spreads on my face as I run out of the room and toss, "We'll catch up later" over my shoulder.

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Just mentally reviewing the day forces a giant yawn and I pull the blanket tighter around me. My day never really slowed down. I never did get a chance to fill Bonnie in on the hot-as-hell stranger that looked even better out of his v-neck than he looked _in_ it. And _that_ was saying something. Another yawn escapes. I roll onto my left side so that my knees are nestled into the back cushions of the couch as I hug them into my chest. My last conscious thought before I succumb to sleep is of a blue-eyed smirk underneath dark hair just long and messy enough that you want to pull on it.

 _My hands cling to a broad chest as he squeezes my ass, lifting my pelvis against his. Clothes. There are too many clothes. I pull my mouth away from his just long enough to pull his dark-grey t-shirt over his head, then my lips are back on his, his tongue is back in my mouth, and my hands snake over his bare chest up his neck to the back of his head clinging to soft jet-black hair. I fist my hands pulling the back of his hair slightly and get an "Mmmm" in response before he playfully bites my lower lip._

 _The button of my jeans is undone and his hands slide down the back to squeeze my bare ass just for a moment before they slide back up and underneath my tank pulling it up as they go. He pulls it over my head and tosses it to the floor. My fingers trace down the chiseled lines of muscle on his abdomen and just brush the button of his jeans when he grips both my wrists, pinning them behind my back._

" _Be good," he half whispers against my ear before nipping my earlobe between his teeth. He attaches his mouth to the spot just below the lobe that makes my knees feel like liquid. I press closer into him, my bra sliding against his chest, my lower stomach sliding up and down over the erection I'm dying to get my hands on. I swallow and try to get a handle on my rapid breathing but give up with a smile and a grin as he releases my hands to dispense with the clasp of my bra. He slides the straps down my arms and tosses it to join my discarded tank somewhere on the floor. He pushes me up against the back of the front door and leans back just enough to press his forehead against mine. He watches his hands trace up the sides of my ribs until his thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts. He takes one in each hand almost reverently and then pinches each nipple between his thumb and forefinger at the same time his tongue thrusts back in my mouth. My tongue rolls over his and I suck just a little which makes him pinch a little harder, and goosebumps spread up my arms and down my back._

 _I take advantage of the preoccupation of his hands and reach for the button fly of his jeans. I pull it undone with one practiced tug and shove the denim over his ass and down toward his knees. Before he can stop me this time I lift one leg around his waist and grind my pelvis against him. Playtime is over. He pushes back and_ good lord _that friction feels good. His left hand runs the length of my leg -still wrapped around him- and slides it back to the floor. His right hand stops the exquisite torture of my nipple as his mouth slowly traces down my neck, over my collar bone, and then his tongue is tracing my left nipple, teasing. I groan and arch into him. He takes the hint, latching on and biting down on my nipple just enough to make the soothing swipe of his tongue that follows feel even more like heaven._

 _He kicks his jeans the rest of the way off as he kisses across my chest to the underside of my right breast. He places a gentle kiss there before tracing a short path up to suck that breast into his mouth. He lets it go with a little pop and smirks up at me before continuing a path down the center of my stomach. As he kneels he drags my unbuttoned jeans and now soaking wet thong down my legs. He gently probes my belly button with his tongue as he tosses the remainder of my clothing aside. Then his hands slide up the back of my thighs as his tongue traces straight down._

 _He looks up at me with that smirk again as he lifts my right leg so my thigh is resting on his shoulder. He kisses the inside of that thigh before dropping his gaze to watch his finger disappear into my slick folds. He passes the finger back and forth, once, twice, always just missing where I want him most. I moan a plea and my hips thrust forward shamelessly. Without further warning a long finger thrusts deep inside me as his lips close around my clit. My hands fly up to grip his hair –almost involuntarily gripping for dear life. Sweet baby Jesus mother of all that is good and holy. A second finger joins the first and his magical tongue starts tracing circles around the little bundle of nerve endings that is threatening to explode. His tongue teases up, his teeth scrape down, and his fingers continue rubbing magic circles inside._

" _Ungghhhh GODDDDD" comes out of my mouth in a voice so desperate and high off pleasure that I almost don't recognize it. He stills his fingers and lifts his mouth just enough to say, "It's Damon actually," before continuing his earlier assault and my knees start to buckle and I'm-_

I startle awake with a deep breath. GodDAMMIT I was so close… If I just… I roll onto my back and slide my hand down the front of my shorts. I rub a quick circle once, twice, close my eyes and picture those eyes looking up at me and aaaahhhhhhhhhhhh. There it is. I lay there for a few minutes more to let my muscles find themselves again before I get up and drag my blanket behind me to my bed. I've got to stop falling asleep on the couch.

And maybe I'll stop by the coffee shop before the game tomorrow just to see if… just to get some coffee.

 **So excited for you guys to see what's next :) Lemme hear your thoughts! xoxo**


	4. Chapter 4 -Take Me Out To The Ballgame

**I. Am. So. Excited. That people are reading this story. Y'all make my day slash week every time I get the little notification emails that someone faved, followed, and/or reviewed. Hope everyone's having a great week! Enjoy!**

My latte is rolling it's eyes at me. Some people read tea leaves, I have a deep spiritual relationship with each ceramic-espresso-almond milk concoction placed on my table. And this one is definitely rolling it's eyes at me. Judgmental bitch. Listen, I had to study. I agreed to go to the baseball game this afternoon, so I have to study both before and after if I'm going to pass my final boards tomorrow. And I'm going to pass.

New surgeons are essentially at the same social-development level as undergrad college students. Because that's the last time any of us had a social life. Medical school and residency are all-consuming. And I wanted to do it right. I'm big on accomplishing goals. This was my path to independence. To security. Neither of which I had growing up. It's not that I didn't date at all in college, I had all the stereotypical undergrad party and dating experiences. But as soon as things looked like they may be getting serious I booked it the other direction. Marriage and babies were not in the cards for me. Possibly ever, certainly not now. Besides, I'd been in love. With coffee. Coffee was always there for me, never abandoned me, never left. And sure, coffee doesn't have a dick, but that's what vibrators and one-night stands are for.

The point is, sometimes I feel like I can barely have a conversation with a normal human being outside of work. Saying that I'm a little rusty in the flirt-with-me game is a bit of an understatement. It's all a moot point so far this morning anyways. Does Damon live close? He said he'd been working that day, right? Does he work close? Was he just there to hang before yoga like I was last time? Why do I care? Who knows. But he's not here. And every time I glance up from my book to check, my judgmental latte rolls her bitchy little eyes.

I attempt to focus on the finer points of traumatic aorta repair for the thousandth time when I'm interrupted by a faintly Welsh accent. "Excuse me m'dear, may I share your table for a bit?" I look up and there's a tiny grey-haired man with a full head of white hair under a tweed fedora. He's smiling a wrinkled smile and there's a twinkle in his eye that I couldn't say no to even if the place wasn't crowded.

"Of course!" I say, clearing a stack of papers from one of the chairs. He hangs his cane off the side of the table and sits, sipping his coffee slowly. This man is infinitely more interesting than reviewing procedures I can now do in my sleep for the umpteenth time, so I close my book and decide to practice being a normal social human being. Caroline would be proud. "Where are you from sir? That's a delightful accent!"

"I'm from here for the last 80 years, love. Came over with my parents when I was small. Mom is Welsh, dad is German. Name's Gunther." He smiles and holds out a hand wrinkled with time and a slight tremor, "And who is the lovely lady I had the good sense to interrupt?"

He's sweet and I fight the urge to "Aw!" out loud. "Elena. I'm Elena. And believe me. I'm glad to be interrupted."

"You're not from Seattle either are you." It's really more of a statement than a question.

"I grew up in Virginia. I moved here a couple weeks ago for work."

"What line of work are you in that has you buried under so much text on a fine Sunday?"

I smile. "I'm a surgeon. I just finished my residency in New York. I moved here to be an attending trauma surgeon at Harborview. But that's predicated on my passing my oral boards tomorrow. Hence the books."

His eyes widen slightly, and the twinkle grows bigger. He looks to the side as if he's looking at the distant past and says, "Ah, yes. My Nora was a surgeon. Before she was taken from me." A tear comes to one eye before he blinks it away and continues, "That was some time ago though. And she loved it for many years." He takes another sip of his coffee and looks back at my half-empty latte as he adds, "You might not know this yet, but Seattle runs on caffeine. You're going to fit in just right here my love. If we don't get enough caffeine in a day, we all wither and die." He says it with a straight-serious face, then smiles at me in a way that make his twinkling eyes wrinkle even more. I fall in love with Gunther a little bit right then.

We chat a while longer before I need to pack up my things. I learn that he's 87 and a retired engineer as well as coffee aficionado like myself. I tell him how I came to claim this particular coffee shop as "mine" on my first day in the city. It was the third stop I made on the day I got into town. First I checked the commute from my cozy studio-loft in Belltown to the hospital. It was a short one. Stop two was the yoga studio, my sanctuary. Stop three was the completion and capstone of important landmarks I needed to establish knowledge of. Fix Coffee, just down the street from the yoga studio.

I was almost sad to bid him farewell and head to Safeco Field. But Caroline will kill me if I'm late. She's already mad that I was skipping lunch to study. So I say a quick farewell to Gunther who raises on shaky legs to kiss me once on each cheek and tells me that he looks forward to next time.

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"Never gets old does it?!" I ask as we finish packing the gear in Alaric's MDX.

"No feeling like it in the world. Especially when it's sunny and Rainier's out. Gotta take advantage of it while we can." He smirks like we're not still gonna haul our asses up that mountain when it's rainy. We just finished a jump from Tiger Mountain. Alaric's new paraglider did _not_ disappoint. Five-thousand dollars well spent. I might just have to look into getting one similar. By similar I mean slightly better of course, because that's what true friendship is all about.

One of my favorite things about living in the Pacific Northwest is the year-round outdoor adventure opportunities. Since I tore my rotator cuff last year our adventures have been modified slightly. Less rock climbing, more extreme hiking. Less white-water canoeing, more stand-up paddle boarding. The sailing is still on hold. I'm just not willing to let someone else sail the boat while I ride along. And until I know that my shoulder can handle the full force of worst-case scenario boat saving, my physical therapist put a hard stop on that one.

Paragliding is one thing I'm not willing to give up. My physical therapist isn't happy about it, but we had a deal. She let me start paragliding again six months ago, and I finally made good on my end and went to yoga two nights ago. And I don't regret it. For a few reasons. I was honestly surprised how hard the class was, how much I was actually able to do, and how great I felt the next day. There was the normal amount of hurts-so-good soreness, but my muscles weren't stiff. I'm supposed to go back tomorrow, Wednesday, and Friday. I'd be looking forward to it a little more if Elena was teaching any of those days –or at all this week. I've checked the schedule three times since yesterday to see if it has changed and her name appeared. So far no dice. I'm legitimately excited to see where yoga can take my shoulder though.

"Did you call Dr. Forbes yet?"

"Nah, it's the weekend. I figured I'd call and report my newfound compliance to her therapy regimen tomorrow morning." It wasn't exactly a phone call I was looking forward to, but I admit when I'm wrong. Or at least when I was unjustifiably skeptical.

"Dude, you should send that woman a fruit basket for putting you in the lap of coffee-shop chick."

"Elena," I correct. Is it weird that I love saying her name and I've interacted with her exactly twice?

"Either way. Fruit basket," he repeats.

Alaric merges on the onramp to west-bound I-90 heading back home. As soon as we enter cell-reception area again I pull out my phone. I figure I'll just leave a message on her phone and send a thank you basket of some sort to the office tomorrow. Not for the coincidence of the yoga teacher, but as a sincere thanks for everything she's helped me through since the accident.

"Damon?! What happened, what's wrong, did you die?!" I jerk in surprise that she answered and pull the phone away from my ear to protect my hearing from her high-pitched screeching.

"Yes, Dr. Forbes, I died on the mountain today and used my one phone call from the other side to call you and tell you that you were right about yoga."

"Well, why are you calling me on a Sunday then?"

"I was going to leave a message on your office machine. Why are you answering your work phone on the weekend?" I counter.

"I grabbed the wrong phone when I left this morning. Actually, if you're not dead this works out well. Do you have plans this afternoon? Rebecca had to cancel last minute so I have an extra ticket to the baseball game if you'd like to come. My boyfriend would be glad to have someone to actually discuss the game with."

She says this like I should know who Rebecca is. I look at my watch. I don't have plans for the rest of the day, and if I remember correctly… "Yeah, I'll be there." Chances that I'll run into Elena in a park full of almost 48,000 people are slim, but I'd imagine they're slightly better than if I was sitting in my loft alone.

"Sounds good. If you get there before the National Anthem meet us in The Pen for a beer. I'll leave your ticket at will-call." She ends the call without a formal goodbye.

It's 11:00 now, I have two hours to get home, showered, and to the ballpark. A pre-game beer in The Pen might be pushing it, but we'll see.

͚

I take a sip of my Manny's Pale Ale and fight the pinch that comes to my cheeks. I don't like beer. Why did I let myself get talked into this? Churning anxiety over skimping on my morning study session mixes with the beer in my stomach. The result is something between nausea and a burning desire to hit the eject button on the social activity bus. I take one glance at my blonde best friend and realize the eject button to land me back at my apartment in solitude with my text books is covered with galvanized steel. She is full blown in operation Normalize Elena -Stat.

Caroline and I met on the cheer squad in high school. I had tried out mostly for the benefits of having more extracurricular activities on my resume for college. We were partnered together in try outs and despite my hesitance to get attached to anyone, we became fast friends. Growing up in the foster system, I was hesitant to get attached to anyone or anything. Few things were permanent in my life and I learned at a young age that it was easier to just not get too close to people, places, and things to begin with. As it turned out, for the first time in my public school experience I ended up being able to stay at the same school for all four years.

After graduation we kept in touch loosely and mostly through social media. I got a full ride scholarship to the University Of Virginia and Caroline moved east to UCLA. After undergrad I got accepted to medical school at Dartmouth, Caroline stayed in SoCal but switched sides to USC to get her Doctor of Physical therapy degree with an orthopedic PT residency. She graduated three years ago when I was finishing my second year of residency. She moved to Seattle and started working at the University of Washington hospital. When I was finishing residency, she was the one to alert me to the fact that the trauma center in Seattle was overhauling their emergency and trauma departments and to check into opportunities there. Fast forward a little and now here we are. Drinking beer at a baseball game.

Caroline knows first hand the struggle of trying to assimilate back into society after years of all consuming medical education. She's essentially like the cruise director of my 're-socialization' as she calls it. She can be a bit much at times, but it's been nice to have someone familiar with all the changes in my life. Her enthusiasm is infectious, but not even her enthusiasm for local micro-brews isn't enough to convince my tastebuds to like beer. Baseball I'm much more open to.

The Pen as they call it is like a bar behind the bullpens at Safeco Field. There's food, there's cheap drinks, and there's excellent people watching. The air is a bit stuffy from the crowd, but there's a nice cool and crisp breeze blowing. The smell of hot dogs, pizza, and garlic fries alternates with the sweet smell of cotton candy and popcorn as the breeze blows through. The crack of a ball hitting a heavy wooden bat punctuates the background noise as the visiting team takes batting practice across the field. There's a rhythmic snap of rubber meeting leather as the pitcher warms up his throwing arm on the other side of the fence we're sitting near.

Matt and Tyler make their way back to the table with a tray full of garlic fries and more beer. "We should probably head to our seats soon, batting practice just ended," Tyler suggests as he grabs Caroline's hand. We head out of The Pen and move toward our seats just behind the Mariners dugout on the first base side.

"It's too bad Rebecca couldn't make it, I was looking forward to seeing her again," I say to Matt as we walk.

"Yeah, she's not a big fan of baseball. She wasn't too sad to have to miss out on this one to stay home with the littles. I tried to stay home with her but she practically kicked me out of the house and said I could return the favor another day." He wrinkles his face in an attempt to look resigned to his fate, but he can't quite pull it off. He loves staying home with his twins any chance he gets. It's so great to see him like this. Stable. Settled. Happy. He grew up in the same foster system I did in Virginia. He met his wife Rebecca while he was in the police academy and they married shortly after he graduated. Rebecca got moved to Seattle for work a couple months after they got married. I think she's an event planner if I remembered correctly.

"Oh! That reminds me! I invited –someone else- to the game… he must be running late. I told him to meet us in The Pen." Caroline looks distractedly at her phone but her sheepish apologetic hesitation was not lost on me.

"He? Caroline, what did you do?"

"Hmm? What do you mean?" She asks still looking at her phone. Her refusal to make eye contact gives me all the confirmation I need.

"Caroline, look-"

"No, listen. It'll be fine," she rushes, "He's just a patient of mine. He called my work phone this morning just after I found out Rebecca wasn't going to be able to come and I just… I didn't tell him it was a date, I know you're weird about that. He just thinks he's meeting me and Tyler for a baseball game. Which he is, technically. But he's really cute Elena… if it doesn't go well you're not out anything. You really need to start putting yourself out there again. I'm telling you, after tomorrow you're going to have time to do things besides study and work. Things like date. And sleep. And maybe both together sometime. Give the battery industry a chance to catch up!"

My mouth gapes open and I punch her in the arm. Tyler nearly spits out his beer as he tries to suppress a snort/giggle. "Babe, leave her alone!" He pulls her into his side and kisses the top of her head, simultaneously protecting her and coming to my defense. Even I have to admit it was funny though, mostly because it's true, and we're all laughing just a little as we scoot to the middle of the row where our seats are.

I flash back to my no-batteries-needed dream last night and feel a slight flush on my cheeks. I'm not sold on the dating thing. I can't commit to anything at this point in my life and career. But getting back in the one night stand game might not be a bad idea. I chug half my beer and still don't like it so I leave the rest in the cup holder to my right. Even if this guy does show up the fate of my night is sealed as ending early and alone. After tomorrow I could 100% use a one-night-stand or two. I make a mental note to talk Caroline into being my wing woman for a night out. I'm sure she won't need much convincing.

͚

I jog up the steps in the rotunda behind home plate. The natural afternoon light bathes the space in warmth and glistens off the resin bat 'chandelier' of sorts that hangs from the ceiling. The retractable roof is open, and there's a slightly salty breeze blowing from the Port around the ballpark. My phone buzzes with a text from Caroline. I'd ignored the 26 I missed while driving here. What's the big deal anyways? It was only the top of the third inning. Factoring the short notice I was given into the equation I'd call that a win. I message her that I picked up my ticket and am walking to the section where our seats are. As I tuck my phone back in my pocket I'm assaulted by the smell of garlic fries. I'll just make one little stop on my way to my seat.

Garlic fries in one hand, sushi in the other, I hustle down the last few steps to the row our seats are on. They appear to be in the middle of the row, so I mutter a few pleasantries to strangers as I squeeze past moving toward my seat. Finally there's an open seat with my number on it. I step into the open space and glance up. In the place I expect to see my blonde physical therapist or her boyfriend I see a pair of long tan legs in short denim shorts, feet propped on the back of the seat in front.

A faded royal blue tank with a retro yellow M logo on the front is simultaneously covering and highlighting a perfect pair of tits with just the right amount of cleavage. One graceful long arm is folded across her tiny waist. The other is holding up some sort of chocolate-covered fruit shishkabob a few inches from pink-tinted lips that have haunted my dreams the last two nights. Gold-rimmed aviators stare up at me and I watch my reflection in them change from shock to pleasant surprise to confusion. I glance down at my ticket. Not that I want to question fate, but like I said earlier, what are the chances I'd run into Elena in a ballpark of 48,000 people? Apparently pretty good, because this is definitely my seat.

I'm just starting to wonder what her eyes are saying behind those sunglasses when I hear Dr. Forbes' voice and glance at the seat past Elena. "Nice of you to make an appearance!" A satirical smile greets me. She has a thing for punctuality. I'm beginning to think that her OCD organization and planning tendencies extend to a few areas of her life. Not just torturing patients at work.

"I didn't figure you'd appreciate me bringing half of Tiger Mountain with me, so I showered and changed after I got the invite." I can see her opinion on my morning adventure forming on her lips so I cut her off with a "You're welcome."

She purses her lips but then smoothes her face into a conspiratory grin as she glances at Elena and then back up at me. "Damon I'd like you to meet-"

"Elena." I smile and reach for her empty hand. Her head tilts to the side slightly as I press a gentle kiss to the butter-soft skin of her fingers. "Lovely to see you again." She pulls her hand away and is about to say something when Caroline interjects.

"Hold up. How do _you two_ know each other?!"

"We don't," Elena is quick to reply. "He was in my yoga class the other night."

"You finally went to yoga?!" Caroline squeals up at me.

"That's what I was calling to tell you this morning."

A very enthusiastic "Well great!" is her response. She must feel the heat of the glare she's getting from Elena because the smile falls from her face when she makes eye contact. She turns to her other side and moves on with the introductions. "This is my boyfriend Tyler, and our friend Matt." It all comes together as Caroline points at the two guys I recognize from yoga. I lean over Elena to shake their hands before settling into my seat as the bottom of the third inning gets underway.

I lick the remnants of the sushi I just popped into my mouth from my thumb and middle finger. I glance up and am surprised to find Elena's gaze locked in my direction. She's pushed her sunglasses up on top of an adorably messy ponytail and us unabashedly staring at my fingers in my mouth. I pull them the rest of the way out with a slight popping sound and I swear to god she almost blushes. I clear my throat and her gaze tears from my mouth to my eyes. The pink flush to her cheeks gets three shades deeper when she realizes she was caught. She pulls her sunglasses back over her eyes and turns back to the game with a pursed lip smile. This sassy fire cracker is actually blushing. It's goddamn adorable.

"I'm sorry you got roped into this. Caroline's been on something of a mission lately."

"I didn't realize I was being roped into anything," I laugh.

"Join the club."

"I agreed to join her and her boyfriend at the game, and I quote, 'so he'd have someone to talk about the game with.' But I gotta admit, I did so because there was a chance I'd see you somewhere in this ball park." I'm treading lightly and may or may not be holding my breath while I wait for her response.

"I moved my study session to the coffee shop this morning." Her eyes are fixed on the battle going down between pitcher and batter as she speaks so she doesn't see my eyebrows pop up in surprise. I glance her direction as she continues, "Mostly because I love coffee but maybe a little bit because I wondered if you'd be there..." She trails off and then turns her gaze away from the game, looking at me over her right shoulder -gauging my reaction.

There's a lot of information to garner from those two sentences. I choose to start with, "Study?" Eloquent, I know. She doesn't immediately elaborate so I add, "Are you in school? What are you studying?"

"Ha! I'm done with school finally," she smiles. I don't entirely understand her amusement with my question until she adds, "I take my final board exam tomorrow to become a board-certified trauma surgeon."

I feel my mouth gaping open. I recognize that I should close it. Or better yet, reply. I can make myself do neither of these things. I'm stunned. In a good way. I finally recover enough to utter, "Oh wow! That's… Wow!" I am a master of words. She blushes almost bashfully. "So, let me get this straight. You are a master yoga genius and you save lives in your spare time?" I'm rewarded with another smile and a "Something like that."

She leans back in her seat, pulls a chocolate covered strawberry off the stick she's holding and pops it in her mouth as she asks, "So what was on Tiger mountain this morning?"

I force my gaze up from the hypnotic motion her petite mouth is making while she chews the lucky strawberry. She asked me something. Think, think, think, think, think… Oh yes, that's right. "Dirt. Trees. The usual." I grab another piece of sushi through a smile and continue, "Nah, my buddy and I go paragliding every Sunday." Now it's Elena's turn to look impressed.

"So you jumped off a mountain this morning? Nice."

"Best feeling in the world. Well, close." She smiles. Lord, that's a beautiful sight.

"You should come next week!" It comes out of my mouth before I think it through. Alaric's gonna kill me for compromising the sanctity of the bro party that is our Sunday ritual. He'll get over it. Besides she probably won't even-

"Yeah, ok!"

I honestly did not see that coming. It must show on my face because she takes one look at be and bursts out laughing. "Or I don't have to, it's fine," she back-tracks.

"Nononononono, I was just surprised you agreed!"

"Well, it's not a date right? Just a friends thing? I mean, your other _friend_ will be there?"

"Do we have to invite him?" She just stares at me. "Ok, fine, but you'll come?"

"Sure! Do I need to rent equipment somewhere or something? Do they have it there?"

"Nah, we've got everything you'll need. Just show up." I finish my sushi and dig into the rest of my garlic fries. I glance down at Elena's half-empty beer in the cup holder next to my knee and realize I've been at a baseball game for half an inning and haven't had a beer yet. Unacceptable. I turn to see if Elena wants anything as she's sucking the last chocolate-covered strawberry off the stick. Je _sus_.

"I'm sorry, but what the fuck are you eating?"

She glances over at me and a squirt of strawberry juice slides over her lip before she chases it with her tongue and wipes her chin with her fingers. "Hmm? Sorry. Shishkaberry! Do you want one? The girl that was selling them should come back around sometime..."

"That's not baseball food."

"Says the guy who just polished off a plate of _sushi_. At a baseball game."

"Touché." I nod toward her half empty cup. "I'm going to go get a beer, can I get you another one?"

She wrinkles her nose adorably as she firmly states, "No thank you, I'm fine."

"Oh that's right, you have your test thing tomorrow..." She seems amused but I stand and continue anyway. "Can I get you a coffee?"

Her face freezes mid snarky comment and melts into hope as she looks up at me. "They have coffee here?" She asks in complete reverence. I try not to laugh out loud at her.

I glance to the left and then to the right. "Yep, still in Seattle. We have coffee everywhere here." Shit, I think the Starbucks headquarters are just a few blocks away, I would walk there to get her whatever she wanted. What is wrong with me? I've talked to this girl three times. Either way, the walk is not necessary. There's a stand every five feet on the concourse. "Iced or hot?"

"Mmm, hot please!" She beams up at me and I swear to god I will get this woman coffee fresh pressed from a field in Ethiopia if she'll look at me like that again.

A bead of sweat drips down my back. "It's 85 degrees out, are you sure?"

The look she gives me would have made any ice cubes go running for the hills in fear anyways. I put my hands up in silent surrender and slide out the row. I glance back to see her smile sweetly as she turns back to the game. I can't help the chuckle that rises out of my stomach as I jog up the steps.

͚

"Ow!" I swat the hand away that just slapped my leg and turn to glare at my best friend.

"Remember when you yelled at me for inviting him?!" She's practically squealing.

"No. No, I do not. I did not yell. I sighed. Exhaustedly."

"Well, look at you being all flirty and social!"

"I'm not being flirty Caroline."

"Please!" She gasps. "Are you not going on a date next week?"

"I am not. I'm going paragliding with a new friend. We're friends Caroline. And tell me one more thing. Honestly. Did you send him to my yoga class on purpose?"

"I swear to you I didn't! I've been trying to get him to go to yoga for the last six months. I had no idea he was even going!"

"I don't want this to be weird. I don't know how to date. I don't even really know how to be normal friends with someone who can't discuss human dissection over steak and wine. But I could use a friend or two in my life, so..."

"Ok, ok." She sighs with way too much satisfaction for my comfort. "But I'm telling you, by the end of the week you're going to be sitting on your couch asking yourself if normal people really just go to work and come home every day."

"I have to pass my boards first."

She just stares at me in response, then rolls her eyes. "Please. We all know there's no way you don't pass."

I just grin. I _am_ good. Really good. That's not arrogance, that's good old fashioned confidence. But there's a reason they make you take the exams and don't just give you a certification based on past merits and work ethic. There will be time to worry about that later. I focus my attention back to the ball game just in time to see Robinson Cano strike out to end the inning.

I stand to stretch just as Damon slides back next to me. He hands me a steaming hot cup of heaven that smells like hazelnut. I clutch it in my hands and inhale a deep breath of my favorite aroma. Underneath the caffeinated hazelnut is something else though. Something clean and spicy/citrus-y? It smells light and makes me want to cuddle into a deep leather couch. It's nice… I realize I'm staring at Damon's well-defined chest under the same dark grey t-shirt from my dream. I look up and he's looking at me expectantly. I feel my cheeks flush.

"My eyes are up here Elena." He doesn't look mad about it one bit.

I smile and shrug unapologetically. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Mmhmm," is the only response I get as we both sit down to watch rest of the game. I _do_ like baseball…

͚

I'm still thinking about her as I brush my teeth getting ready for bed. I don't think I've ever laughed that much at a baseball game before. I almost fell over during the 7th inning stretch I was laughing so hard at the dance Elena and Caroline did when they played Louie Louie. By the 9th inning though lines of concentration encroached on her forehead. Caroline called her out on her studying without the books and she half apologized, but didn't exactly stop either. I tried every smirk and trick I had to get her to come out with us after the game. I was grossly unsuccessful. She wouldn't even let me give her a ride home. She did however let me put her number in my phone so I could get in touch with her about Sunday.

That woman is the most captivating bundle of surprises and sunshine I've ever run across. The second hand energy I got just by sitting next to her has me feeling like I could run all the way back to my loft. Every piece of information I learn about her makes me crave more. Every time her knee brushed mine, or her hand touched my knee… Every time she leaned over to ask me a question about the game, I couldn't get enough of her. She smells like some sort of divine goddess, plus a hint of coconut. I narrowed that one down to the sunscreen I had the pleasure to watch her reapply to her arms halfway through the game. There was something so innately feminine but in an understated way beneath the coconut smell that I couldn't put my finger on. Whatever it was was my new favorite smell.

How far away was next Sunday again? There was going to be plenty to do at the bar this week in preparation for our opening next Wednesday. Hopefully the time will fly right on by.

 **until next time xoxo**


	5. Chapter 5 -The 47th Parallel

**Hi :) This chapter is a shorter than I planned on, but I think I'm happy with the way it turned out. For some reason every word was like pulling teeth. AND I've been SO busy with life the past week (who isn't though) I decided to just call it good as is. Next chapter is in the works already -everyone hope that my muse likes cruise ships and tropical islands because I'll be writing the majority of the next chap during some much needed down time in the Bahamas :) Until then though... Here's a lil glimpse into Damon's past. Enjoy!**

Time is definitely not flying right on by. Time is a stubborn son of a bitch this week. And it's only Tuesday. Yesterday was filled with interviews for our hostess and wait staff. There are a lot of stupid people in this world. Have you ever noticed that? I swear to god yesterday half of all the stupid people in the greater Seattle area came through my bar.

Did you ever watch American Idol? You know the first few weeks of all the auditions? That was the only part of the show I ever watched. I could sit for hours watching people who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket throw a diva sized tantrum when they were called out on their shit. It was hilarious. I mean, there's no way these people made it this far in life with not one single soul telling them that it might be a good idea to go to trade school instead. You know, because any self-respecting cat would give up all nine of their lives to avoid having to listen to one more 'note' of their screeching voice.

I spent yesterday being Simon Cowell, trying to find talent in a sea of actual idiots. By the time Alaric and I finished I was ready to write an apology note to those poor judges for finding humor in their misfortune all those years. As painful as it was, I think we put together a good crew. In general wait/host staff at a bar is not a life-long career goal. I get that. I also have no interest in filling my bar with warm bodies who have no interest in the quality of work and service they provide.

Growing up I remember watching an electrician who came to the house one day. I don't remember what exactly he was there for. What I do remember is watching him work down to the finest detail of every single minuscule wire, cap, and plate. He took more pride in his 'menial labor job' as my father would have put it, than I had ever seen my father put into any of his business ventures. I learned that day that I could learn just as much from the low people on the totem pole as I could from the white collar crowd my family was immersed in.

I want my bar staffed by people that take pride in what they do. Who care about details. Who know not only my bar, but their job even better than I do. Not just people who can smile politely, say the right things, go through the motions, but not mean an ounce of what they're doing. I have a thing for authenticity. Yesterday was one big trial of my stance on that position, but we made it through. And then I made it through yoga. My second class was just as beneficial from a physical therapy standpoint and not nearly as visually pleasing.

Does that sound wrong? Sue me. I said the yoga was good, I still felt the benefits. I just appreciated the way Elena looked in her yoga pants a lot more than the way Francisco looked in his shorts. I'm allowed opinions.

My opinions are interrupted by the jingle of the bell over the door. I look up and mentally fist-pump. This is what I've been waiting for all day.

"Ric!" I call to the back, "Get out here!"

He walks out from the office with a grin on his face to match my own. We designed the sign and logo for the bar months ago and today is the day we see the finished product. The sign for the outside of the building is being delivered as well as the logo that will hang above the bar.

I can't help but rub my hands together in excitement as I walk to greet Enzo, our design coordinator. "Hey man! Everything turn out ok?"

He just grins. "This is the new favorite thing in my portfolio. Honestly, some of the best work I've ever seen. It's sleek, it's sexy, it's sophisticated. It's everything you asked for." He nods toward the door as he turns and walks toward it. We follow him like excited -but sophisticated- puppies on Christmas morning.

͚

I take a step back after locking the door and look up. It's amazing to watch your dreams materialize in front of you. The outside of the bar is complete now. The wood panels that run horizontally to frame the door were reclaimed form the deck of a ship. The dark tinted roll-back windows are all down and closed, the black cast-iron trimmings offering a glint from the street lamps above. And the piece de resistance; the matt black flat iron rectangle plate hangs over the door, slightly to the right so the border hangs over the edge of the reclaimed wood and into the line of roll-away windows. There's an interlocking 4 and 7 encompassed in a thin circle all laser-cut out of the middle, just to the right of center of the piece. It's simple, it's strong, it's sleek, it's perfect.

I knew when Ric and I started tossing around ideas for this place that I wanted to keep an understated nautical theme as the base of the concept. I don't mean Nantucket nautical, with pastel beach tones and anchors and life-rafts everywhere. I mean using wood reclaimed from the deck of a ship that's withstood being washed over, scrubbed down, bled on, puked on, tossed back and forth and up and down, and come through the other side. I mean the name of the bar, 47. Correlating to Seattle's longitudinal coordinates. I mean the same iron and steel that loads and unloads giant vessels as support for both tables and the rolling windows. Hell, even the windows themselves. They roll down and lock up tight but on nice days they can all roll back until they disappear, converting the space into an open air outdoor experience. The head lamps enable the use of outdoor space in all seasons. She's truly going to be a thing of beauty.

It's a nice night out. I'm not ready to head upstairs yet. I look down the street toward Green Lake and decide to go for a walk. What a turn my life has taken over the past year. I can't help but wonder what my father would think of me now. It's somewhat ironic that I'm a business owner. It's all that was ever expected of me. Opening this bar is at once everything I never wanted, and exactly the way I wanted to do it. You following me? No? Ok, look. When you're born into the Salvatore family you're born with a road map to your life. And it's laminated. As a child you're seen but not heard. You're polite, you're polished, you're always clean-faced, never dirty-kneed. You go to the elite private schools your family has gone to for generations. You make the grades you're expected to make. You guessed it, not even an A-minus. You have friends as dictated by generations of pedigree, not by what you want. You don't have to like it, but you do have to smile appear happy. Life is all about appearances.

Don't get me wrong, I realize there are people who would gladly trade their actual problems for living a life of empty luxury. And that's my problem with the whole situation. Remember the electrician I was telling you about earlier? The one that showed me what it was like to take pride in what you do? He was one example of many, but a lightbulb went on in my head that day. I watched him quietly and from afar. I startled when he noticed me. Not only would I be disciplined for interrupting an adult, but I was not to interact with 'the hired help.' It was never explicitly stated, more-so understood, that 'they' were 'beneath us.'

I shrank back behind the corner of stairs I'd been hiding behind and held my breath as I listened for a sign that one of my parents had seen me. I heard a chuckle coming from the man but no sign of life elsewhere in the house. I peeked my head around the corner and he was looking at me with the kindest smile I'd ever seen directed my way. He waved me forward with a kind motion of his hand.

"Would you like to come see?"

I didn't dare speak. I took a cautious step forward and then another. Eventually I came to a stop a few feet away and watched in silence. Over the next hour I became captivated with the kind man's smile. With watching him work. The way he patiently explained what he was doing in a way that my 5 year-old brain could understand. No adult had ever taken the time to talk to me in such a candid manor.

What I took away from that afternoon was more than just an appreciation for hard work. I learned that day what _real_ felt like. When that man spoke, he spoke to me. When he smiled he meant it. It was almost like he had uncovered a deep hole in my being that I hadn't known existed. I hadn't realized that I had so little _real_ in my life. And now I was starving to fill that hole.

Through years of private school education I still followed the rules. I had to. But I followed the rules with purpose. I learned because I wanted to. I talked to people because I wanted to. When I graduated high school I was expected to go to University of Washington business school. My family's name was on the building on campus after all. I told my father I wanted to go to NYU. He laughed. And enrolled me in UW business undergrad. The most terrifying and most liberating day of my life was the day I told my father I withdrew my enrollment and accepted a partial scholarship to NYU. And I was going to study English Literature. My trust fund was frozen, my accounts were all cut off, and I spent that night at the bus station. I had never been so happy.

I eventually made it across the country via greyhound bus, checked into my NYU dorm, and met my roommate Alaric. He grew up in the middle of southern-charm society in Charleston, South Carolina. His reginmented high-on-expectations-and-appearances upbringing left him with a similar hunger for life as mine. Together we 'experienced' a lot of shit. Do you ever look back on things you did and just ask yourself 'How did I not die?' That sums up our undergrad experience. We did it all, drank it all, saw it all, slept with –well- not _all_ but _a lot_ _,_ and somehow not only did we not die, we made it through to graduation. And to grad school.

Ric was always going to get his MBA. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my post-college life, so grad school sounded like as good of a plan as any. Few were more surprised than me that Ric talked me into getting my masters in business. His reasoning was sound though. I was good at it. And in spite of the fact that I was expected to do it, I actually liked the work. So I did it. For me. As far as I knew my family had no idea. There was something so gratifying about the fact that I did it all on my own. That I earned my initial scholarship, I worked my ass off bartending through undergrad and then grad school. I earned it.

By the time we completed our master's degrees at the Stern School of Business the city had lost some of it's initial appeal. New York was the most real place I could think of. And I had lived it for the past six years. I mean lived. There was no stone unturned. And while it would always be a part of my home, I felt a need to move on. To explore elsewhere.

Ric landed a job as the lead manager of a project startup division at Amazon. It's a pretty sweet gig, and right up his alley. He was stoked at the prospect of heading to the pacific northwest. I was stoked for him, but still unsure what was next for me. I found myself roped into helping Ric move all his shit across the country. If I'm being honest I was hoping to be able to actually connect with at least my mother while I was in town.

I'd tried a few times, especially at first, to keep in contact with my family from New York. All calls went un-answered, every letter and package returned unopened. While I was living the shit out of my independence and loving every minute, there's a part of me that still wanted my mom and dad to be proud of me. I don't care who you are, I think every child has a natural desire to please their parents. I'd kept up with their social ventures via the internet, and it didn't seem like much had changed.

There was a brief moment when I saw a flicker of something resembling excitement in my mother's eyes when I saw them again. She took the fact that I graduated business school after all to mean that her prodigal son was ready to return to the fold. When I told her I had saved some money and was planning on traveling, the plastic gloss was back over her face. Both she and my father politely thanked me for 'looking them up' while I was in town and wished me well on my travel. I was nothing more than a stranger in passing.

That was harder to swallow than I'd have thought. I had left cash on the table at Altura and walked out before our dessert was served. I called Ric as I waited for my uber. When he answered I told him I was leaving the swanky restaurant in Capital Hill and was in the mood for a little reality. Seattle had plenty of dive bars with good live music to choose from. I threw out a few ideas and left the decision up to my best friend. After all, these were going to be his stomping grounds. There was Fado in Pioneer Square, the Irish pub that was bound to have a hipster strumming guitar and a waitress full of Irish sass. Hwy99 club, literally underneath the viaduct of Hwy 99. Also in P-square, the dimly lit jazz joint could have been ripped out of the prohibition speak-easy era. The lesser known Owl & Thistle just down the alley, and I threw in Shorty's for good measure. Shorty's was a bar that doubled as an old school pinball arcade on 2nd Ave in Belltown. It was a hell of a lot of fun before that douche Anthony Bourdain ruined it by telling everyone that it existed.

By some stroke of fate or magic of the universe, whatever you want to call it, we ended up at a sawdust-and-peanuts-on-the-floor joint called Hooverville in SoDo. The owner had more tattoos than teeth and looked a little frail, but was mean as a pissed off bronco at the rodeo when he needed to be. Which was rarely. I'm a little fuzzy on the finer details of the night, but somehow I ended up loosing a bet to a group of longshoremen. As penance I had to show up with them at the docks at the ass crack of dawn in the morning to help unload an arriving cargo ship.

We ended up spending the rest of the night talking shit and playing drinking games with the group of guys. Kind of a sausage party, but I'm man enough to handle it. At closing time we moved the party to 13 Coins –a 24-hour restaurant like Denny's but with palatable food. We stayed there until the sun came up and Ric crawled back to his new apartment back near Lake Union and I headed to the docks with my new friends. The work was back-breakingly hard but the company was good and the time passed quickly. By the end of the morning I had been talked into signing up with the union. I was the newest member of the longshoreman crew. And apparently staying in Seattle. Which was fine. I really did like it here. I just didn't like the Seattle that my parents lived in. The good news was I didn't have to live in that Seattle.

It wasn't using my college degrees i'd worked so hard for, but it was hard work. It was work with my hands. I felt like I'd been productive at the end of the day. And I loved it. I also loved that it afforded me a fairly lush lifestyle all on my own terms. It wasn't long before I was able to buy my own loft. I loved every minute of the work for four years until the accident shredded my shoulder.

I don't believe in accidents really though. The same time my shoulder got destroyed Ric was getting tired of corporate life with Amazon and ready for a change. The space on the ground floor of the building my loft was in came available and the idea for 47 just kind of fell into our laps. And it was going to be amazing. It was built from the ground with our own hands. Every plank of the floor, every cast of the iron trim. It also felt good to be using my education again on a more regular basis.

A small herd of geese cross the sidewalk in front of me. I've made the loop around Green Lake and start heading toward home. My hands find their way into the pockets of my leather jacket as the bar with my loft above it comes into view.

Perhaps my most favorite gift from the universe in regards to our new business venture was the day that Elena happened to be sipping a latte across the street. I don't know what exactly it was –is- about her, but I can't get her out of my head. She's absolutely physically stunning. It's more than that though. The sound of her laugh, the energy that radiated off of her at the baseball game, it's something all together that I can't put into words. And let's remember that I have a bachelor's degree in the English language. I also speak a near-fluent French. That's no help either.

Sure that first day at the coffee shop I was mostly interested in banging her. That night at yoga I couldn't get the thought of her sweaty abs sliding underneath mine out of my head. I had zero desire to attempt to think of anything else. But there was something more. I don't mean to sound like a complete dick but it's not often that I have to work to get women to agree to go out with me, or fuck me. Whatever the case may be. Why and how this one woman compelled me to continually offer my company when she was quite clear on her refusal has me a bit baffled. I'm not one to question the universe, so I'm just going to keep going with the flow. She wants to be friends? I can try that. I wonder how she'd feel about fuck friends, but I don't think it'd be wise to broach that subject just yet. I'm perfectly content to let her sit in the driver's seat as long as I'm in the car.

I climb the stairs to my loft and pull out my phone. Technically it's not Wednesday, which would three days since Elena gave me her number. Man rules dictate that I can use it to text her on the third day. I don't want to wait though. I start neutral.

'We still on for Sunday?'

I'm so smooth. I almost roll my eyes at myself when I see three little dots blinking at the bottom of my screen and throw my fist in the air.

'Yeah! Is it still cool if I come?'

'No… you are a complete nuisance and I've changed my mind ;)'

'Of course it's okay. Have you ever been paragliding before?'

'No, but I was talking to a couple the guys at work about it. Do I need to take lessons? I don't wanna slow you guys down by not knowing what I'm doing.'

The three dots keep blinking at the bottom and I can almost hear her talking herself out of this so I interrupt.

'Lol, no you don't need lessons. No you won't slow us down. You're going to love it. We'll help you tandem on Sunday and if you're not sick of us yet you should be good to solo next week if you want to go again.'

'You mean if I don't die at the bottom of the mountain?'

'We never let the pretty ones die.'

'You're such an ass.'

I can't help but grin.

'Besides, couldn't you surgeon yourself back to life?'

'I _am_ good… I'll bring my scalpels and bone saw just in case.'

Bone saw? I shudder. Let's switch the subject.

'Speaking of, how did your boards go yesterday?'

'Really well. You're talking to Harborview's newest board-certified trauma surgeon :)'

'Nice! When's the party'

'Don't say party. I think Caroline saw to it that we drank half of Seattle's liquor supply last night.'

'Thanks for the invite. I'm hurt.'

'Ha! I don't believe your ego's that fragile for a second.'

'Be that as it may, I'm somewhat of an expert in hangover cures.'

'Are you going to tell me or are you just extolling your virtues?'

God I love this woman's sass. This should be fun.

'Number one hangover cure? Hair of the dog. Come meet me for a drink.'

' :| '

'Thats's what I thought. You don't want to hear the second one.'

'C'mon Damon. I thought we were friends.'

'Exactly.'

'?'

'Well, ok, just remember, you asked. Sex.'

'Ha. Ha. Ha. Seriously.'

'Oh, I'm serious babe. Clinically proven. The endorphins released during sex act as a pain killer. It's science.'

I love science.

'First of all don't babe me. Second of all, I think I'll stick to my own method, IV fluids and a multivitamin.'

'Boring.'

'But with much less change of drug resistant gonnorhea.'

Ew.

'I actually just cringed.'

'Science.'

'Haha, touche.'

'Goodnight Damon.'

I wonder what it would be like to hear her say good morning instead of goodnight all the time. You know, as she stretches and yawns? In my bed. Naked. Someday…

'Night grandma. You always go to bed at 8pm?'

'I do when I am in charge of saving lives at 0500.'

Well, she had me there. What I really want to ask is when we can play doctor. What I end up typing is:

'Well then goodnight superhero. Sweet dreams ;)'

 **Let's hear what you think! xoxo**


	6. Chapter 6 -Free Fallin'

**Hello again! So I'm back on solid land and on the west coast after a fantastic five day cruise in the Bahamas. Just waiting for the waving feeling that I'm still on the ship to pass. Lol. I was able to get a bit of writing done with the help of the pool to cool me down when needed ;) And I hope you like the results. Let's get to that paragliding non-date shall we?**

I lean against the back of my car, clutching my venti soy cinnamon dulce latte in both gloved hands. The heels of my hiking boots kick against the dirt of the parking lot. If everything wasn't so wet here I'd be camouflaged in a cloud of dust. One thing I've learned about Seattle in the few weeks I've been here? The ground is always a little wet, and everything -literally everything- is green. Even the asphalt in a lot of places.

I stare at the warm socks sticking out above my hiking boots and decide that I'm glad I decided on a second layer of yoga pants to brave the sudden chill to the morning. My well-loved grey Columbia sweatshirt was layered on top of both a long-sleeved tee with holes for my thumbs, and a second short sleeved tee on top of that. The wind picks up again and I'm wishing I'd brought my scarf. I contemplate taking my hair out of the pony tail to act as a scarf when I hear tires spraying wet gravel at the entrance to the landing field parking lot behind me.

Damon is in the passenger seat with a white-knuckled grip on the oh-shit handle of the black MDX that his friend pulls to a stop near where I'm standing. The laugh on both their faces is at odds with the death grip on the handle. His eyes lock with mine and I see the excitement dance across his face. His smile gets bigger as he jumps out of the front seat.

"Hey! Sorry we're a bit late, we stopped for-" he glances down at the Starbucks logo on the cup of coffee in my hands. His grin is a bit sheepish when he looks back up holding a to-go container with three steaming cups of caffeinated deliciousness in his right hand "-Coffee." He holds up a medium sized brown paper bag from Einsteins in his left hand and adds, "And breakfast. You didn't eat already did you?"

"I wasn't sure I should progress past my liquid breakfast this morning. I'd hate to ruin a perfectly good jump off a mountain by vomiting in my own face." My voice is tighter than normal, I think my nerves are showing though.

He cringes a bit, then seems to shrug it off. "Do you get motion sick?"

"No, not really..." His hair is mussed by the wind and I fight the urge to tame it with my fingers.

"Meh! You'll be fine then. You aren't on some crazy gluten free, dairy free, goodness free diet though right? I should have asked before we picked up bagels I guess..." His voice trails and I get the hint that he might be a bit nervous himself. Hmm.

"I love bagels. And anything with cream cheese is a bonus."

"Dibs on the onion," says a voice to my left. I turn and extend my hand toward Damon's friend.

"I'm Elena, and you must be..."

"Alaric. Call me Ric." He smiles. His cleaner cut blonde hair isn't effected by the wind, his green eyes warm and friendly. His handshake is firm, then he surprises me by lifting my hand to kiss my glove-covered knuckles. "Damon didn't tell me his friend –and he emphasized the friend- was such a beauty."

I can't help the grin and flush to my cheeks at his kind words, and the smile to myself that Damon got the friend hint. Ric drops my hand and turns to Damon who looks like a parent about to scold a child. Before he can speak Ric walks up to him, punches him in the arm and says, "Let's go bro, you get to carry the tandem pack up." He throws a large backpack over his own shoulder, turns to me and says, "C'mon beautiful, we've got a mile and a half of stories to tell."

͚

By the time we get to the north launch at the top of Poo Poo Point Alaric has covered everything from the time we got wasted and joined the circus (and had to talk our way out of it the next morning) to the time we almost got arrested in the Athens airport. At one point Elena was laughing so hard I was worried she was going to fall off the mountain. Which is why I only half-heartedly protested my friend's story telling. This woman's laughter is a freaking drug.

"Ok, but the circus?" She laughs again and grabs the back of my arm for balance. She wipes the tears of laughter from her eyes and releases my arm. Is it just me or was the trailing of her fingers down toward my elbow unnecessary? I wonder how I can get her to do it again…

"Listen, when you've been road-tripping across the country for three days and you're in the middle of nowhere surrounded by nothing but corn fields, you do what you can for entertainment. It just so happens the entertainment that night was a _lot_ of alcohol and then going to the carnival that was in town. One thing led to another and we're just lucky we had my charming wit to get us out of it the next morning." I smile and rub my chest proudly, Ric just scoffs and rolls his eyes.

We reach our favorite spot in the top of the clearing and unload the gear from our backs. The tandem harness doesn't really add that much weight to the pack, but my shoulder still groans in slight protest as I set the pack on the ground.

Ric and I get strapped into our harnesses fairly quickly and Elena isn't far behind us. She's a quick learner. I finish tightening my own straps and double check each connection to the sail before helping her make sure she's in tight. A tandem paragliding harness is really it's own independent harness –kind of like a canvas bucket seat with extra leg straps. It will hook into the sail at the same point as mine but each harness is it's own deal. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't both grateful for and mourning the fact that her ass wouldn't be directly in my lap.

I've double checked each of my own straps and connection points, now I'm doing the same to Elena's. I position us so that she's standing to my right facing down the mountain. I'm facing the sail laid out on the ground above us. I get a good grip on the cords, give a thumb up to Ric. Let's do this. As Ric is taking off I turn my head toward Elena who's nervously clutching the handles on her harness.

Her sunglasses are on and her face underneath is a mask of concentration. A gust of wind whips the silky strands of her ponytail that poke out the bottom of her helmet. She glances over and offers a small smile that feels like a plea.

"Breathe," I instruct. She does. "You've got your camera handy?" She smiles and holds up her phone that's attached to a strap on her right wrist. "Alright then, count of three. One…" I strengthen my grip on the cords. "Two..." I start to pull back, "Three!"

͚

I run three steps before my feet are lifted off the ground. Damon matched my first two steps and managed to get the giant sail above us into the air and himself turned around and in his spot behind me. I feel his boots slide into the stirrups at either side of my harness and I feel a wave of security as his legs brush the sides of my ribs. I take another deep breath and _really_ look around. Oh. My. God. This is absolutely incredible. The cool morning is crystal clear and the sky stretches for miles around us in all directions. The snowy caps of Mt Rainier stick out above the green blanket that is the ground below us. I relax my grip on the handles. Damon leans forward and his breath is warm on my cheek.

"Look left," he directs loudly enough to be heard over the wind rushing by. I turn my head to the left and about twenty yards away a bald eagle is soaring on a similar flight path.

I can't help the grin that has taken over my face as I turn around and shout, "Oh my GOD this is INCREDIBLE!" My left hand lets go of my security handle and grabs Damon's leg at my side. I point a little further downhill from our feathered friend at the stripe of red that I'm pretty sure is Alaric. I also point out what looks like a lake off in the distance. I have no idea what body of water it is, but the way the morning light is glittering off it is beautiful.

We're floating. I'm actually floating in mid air. I lean back in my harness and look up at the red and orange patterns on the sail above. The cords stretch tautly making a beautiful string of geometrical lines that and in a cable-like grouping in each of Damon's strong hands. I grab my phone and open the camera, grabbing a shot looking straight up. I look back to the left and am surprised that our eagle friend is still there, so I snap a pic of him as well. I take a few more in all directions then flip the camera around and lean back getting both mine and Damon's face in the frame. He's looking up and to the right adjusting a bundle of cords, I look into the camera, smile, and snap the photo anyways. He looks down to catch me. One side of his face lifts in a smile, he leans in closer turns the full weight of those crystal clear blue eyes at the lens on my phone and smiles expectantly. I take another pic then let my phone dangle by it's strap secured to my wrist. I lean back in my harness and try to soak in every minute detail of this experience. The way the wind whistles as it blows past my helmet. The way the sunshine warms my face despite the chill to the air. And did I mention the feeling of FLOATING IN THIN AIR. I'm never going to get this smile off of my face.

͚

Too soon the ground approaches. I feel Elena lean back into her harness as she sticks her long legs out straight in front of her. I swear to god if she studied this… Her technique is perfect either way and I can't help but be a little proud. I remove my feet from the stirrups at her sides and just as she starts to lower her legs I land us gently on the ground. The parasail floats down gracefully behind us, and I can see Ric gathering his up a few yards in front of us.

I start undoing the cables on my left side when Elena spins around and almost knocks me over with a squeal. Her arms are around my shoulders, her legs are clenched to my sides, and _good lord_. I wrap my arms around her and hold on for dear life. She'd dropped her helmet to the ground and I'm assaulted by the captivating scent of her shampoo.

She jumps back down and grabs both of my forearms, bouncing up and down on her toes. "I want to go again!" She exclaims. Pure joy is beaming out of her face.

"Right?! Hey Ric, we hooked another one." I call out as he walks over to help me pack up the sail. Technically the tandem sail is his. He got it when things started getting serious with Jenna. He'd brought her a few times, and she didn't hate it, but she never really got hooked.

Elena exuberantly jumps into a hug with my best friend and gives him a rundown of every detail of her first jump. As if he hadn't seen the same things… and when did they become so chummy? I tune back in to what they're talking about in time to hear, "… You have to call Jenna and tell her to meet us for lunch! I'll call Caroline." Elena pulls out her phone and looks to me as she waits for Caroline to pick up. "You don't have plans do you? You in for lunch?"

This woman has completely commandeered my best friend and my afternoon, and I have zero complaints. I smile, "Apparently I don't and I am."

͚

"My god what a fun day," I say mostly to myself. The lights of the city swirl outside the window to my right as a fresh wave of heat comes out of the vent in front of me.

"Agreed," says the deep voice to my left. Damon reaches over and links my fingers with his. I stare. They look nice, our hands. His fingers feel good between mine. I extend and then slightly flex my fingers sliding them against his. I glance up and find him looking at me quietly, like he's waiting for me to say something.

"That feels… not friendly," I don't pull my hand away though. I rub my thumb over his and he moves his finger sliding smoothly between mine. "It's... nice," I trail off and glance back out at the lights blurring as they speed past. I crack the window to neutralize the rise in temperature and see the uber driver glance back at me through the rear view.

It had been a great day. Lunch had turned into a walk around the Arboretum which had turned into dinner and then more drinks afterward. I had gone home to change after paragliding and Caroline offered to pick me up on the way to lunch. She wasn't satisfied with my description of the morning's flight. As she drove she grilled me relentlessly about every word Damon said, every word I responded, and how _exactly_ the idea for lunch had come up. ' _You're reading too much into things Caroline. It was fun, Alaric is an absolute hoot, and I thought it would be fun for all of us to go to lunch-_ ' _'If you say the words as friends again so help me...'_ She'd left her response hanging in the air.

I couldn't be mad that she didn't get it. It isn't her life to get. I'm good at a lot of things in my life. In fact I don't like doing things that I'm not good at. I'm a kick-ass surgeon. I'm good at being smart. I'm good at being independent. I'm good at figuring things out. At making things happen. On my own. I'm good at being alone. I don't mean that to sound as sad as I'm starting to think it does. It's just that's all I've ever known. It's comfortable. It makes me uncomfortable to need things. I have friends but I'm equally ok doing things by myself.

I love having friends, I've just learned to love them without a timeline. I've loved having Caroline as a source of familiarity as I get used to a new city. I love that I count her as a friend. I'm also realistic about expectations. Things happen. People leave. Even if they don't mean to. Sometimes it's hard, sometimes it's a good thing. But it's always easier to live your life if you can enjoy friendships without becoming reliant on having people in your life. Just enjoy them while they're there.

I'm not sure if it's the fourth cucumber press or the clean smell of his aftershave… deodorant? I'm not sure, but enjoying him while he's here sounds like a really good idea right now. I squeeze his hand and shift my shoulders closer to the heat radiating off his body. Why is it so cold and windy in here? I shiver and Damon reaches across me with a smirk and pushes a button on the door that stops the wind.

My nose is close to his ear and I move a bit closer. My nose slides against his cheek, my lips graze his jaw. Aftershave. The smell was definitely aftershave. I pull back as he leans back to settle in his seat. Almost. His hand that had rolled up my window lingers on the outside of my right thigh, pulling my knees closer to his. His face pulls back and like a magnet, mine follows. He's so close I can feel the catch of his breath as he looks down at my lips through half-closed eyes. _Please kiss me, i_ s my last coherent thought before he interlaces my lips with his. They're warm, and soft. _Lord_ are his lips soft. I lightly touch the bottom one with my tongue before applying just a little bit of suction.

Then he just takes over and I'm completely consumed. His tongue is in my mouth and I suddenly don't need to breathe, I just need him to keep doing whatever it is he's doing. He lets go of my hand and brings two fingers underneath my chin tilting my fece just so. I reach my other hand to reverently touch his chest as he slides my lap closer to him with the hand still resting on my thigh.

Somewhere over his shoulder someone clears their throat. I pull back enough to see that we've arrived at my apartment building. I'm still close enough that when I say, "Thank you," to the uber driver my lips flicker across Damon's. I press one more gentle kiss to his lips and whisper " _C'mere_ ," as I pull back grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the car behind me.

͚

I have no willpower of my own. I follow like a trained puppy as Elena keys us into the lobby of her apartment complex. She pulls me toward the elevator bank and as she pushes the button I grab her left hand with mine, slide my right hand to her hip and pull her back against me. My lips find the spot where her neck meets her shoulder and my _God_ I don't think I've ever felt skin so soft. She's warm and smells like an absolute goddess and _shittttt_. She rubs her ass against my growing erection and I'm quickly becoming so hard it hurts.

The elevator in front of us opens with a ding and she pulls me in then pushes me up against the back of the doors as they close. She must have pushed the button for her floor because the elevator starts moving as the doors close. I couldn't even tell you if we're alone. I don't care. Her hands grip my chest like she's getting ready to crawl up me and her hips press securely against mine. Her tongue slides across my bottom lip, asking permission to enter and as I part my lips her tongue brushes inside and _good lord_ can this woman kiss.

My hands trace slowly from their grip on her waist to the perfection that is her ass. I squeeze gently and pull her up harder against me. She makes a sound from her throat that is too delicate to be a growl, but it's raw and I think it's the best sound I've ever heard. She rocks her pelvis against mine and playfully bites my lower lip as the elevator door dings open depositing us into the hallway. She loops her left arm around my shoulders and clings to my chest with the other as she walks backwards leading me down the hall, mouths and tongues still attached.

We stop in front of what I'm assuming is her apartment door. She pulls away long enough to reach into her bag for her keys. She unlocks the door with one hand while sliding her other hand down my chest and around my waist. I'm about to break the goddamn door open when she finally pulls her key out of the door as it swings open. I follow her inside and she throws her bag and keys on a table near the door as I shut the door behind us. I pull her back to me and this time I'm the one to push her against the door. My leg slides between hers and my hands find their place on her hips. I feel her smile against my lips as she opens her mouth against the gentle probing of my tongue. I let myself kiss her for a few more moments before I pull back. I don't want to stop, but we've both had a little bit to drink tonight and I'd just like a little clarification before I slide my hands underneath her shirt like I want to.

"Elena," I breathe squeezing my eyes shut and pressing my forehead to hers.

Her finger presses against my lips as she groans, "Ssshhhh, no talking." Her finger still lingers on my bottom lip as she seals her mouth over mine. She rubs herself against my thigh that's still between hers and I take that as the clarification I wanted. She pulls back long enough to pull her shirt off then mine. By the time she presses up against my chest I don't think I could utter a word if I wanted to. I grind my hips into hers and slide my hands from her waist up the sides of her ribs. My lips leave hers to trail kisses across her jaw and down her neck. When I reach her collar bone I hear her throw her head back against the door.

Her smooth olive-toned skin stands out in contrast to the black sheer-lace bra. Her cleavage sits softly and perfectly above the top of her bra, more prominently so when I slide my hands to the underside of each breast and squeeze gently. My thumbs rub over the small peaks of her hardened nipples as she moans and rubs her thigh up the outside of mine.

"Bedroom," I manage to get out before I kiss her again. And she pushes us away from the door. We make it to the beginning of a hallway before she stops and grabs at the buttons on the front of my jeans. She pushes them down and I kick off my shoes so I can step out of my jeans. My cock stretches out the front of my boxers, grateful for his new freedom. She slides a hand on each side of my ass and presses my erection into the softness of her lower belly. She trails kisses across my chest and swirls her tongue around a nipple.

I lift her head back to mine, marveling again at the softness of her lips as I push us a couple more steps down the hallway. She pushes a door open behind me and backs us into her room. Our mouths are still fused, hands still petting, clawing, as I walk us toward the foot of her bed. She knees up on the bed and I follow. I put my hands around her tiny waist, lift her, and gently toss her back onto a pile of pillows. She reaches up and grabs my shoulders pulling me down to her. My mouth finds her neck and she turns her head to the side as she arches her chest into mine. I reach around to undo the clasp of her bra with one hand, the other hand sliding down to the small of her back where her jeans rest.

I run my hands around and up to her shoulders to slide the straps off and toss the black lace scrap of fabric somewhere across the room. Elena leans back on her elbows watching me watch her. She's perfect. I take a perfect bare breast in each hand and knead gently once, twice, then my lips find hers. She lays back down and I pinch a nipple between each thumb and forefinger. She raises her hips against mine as a whiny groan leaves her lips. I know baby, I know.

My hands leave their position, my mouth replaces them. I suck one perfect nipple into my mouth and gently scrape the sides with my teeth before soothing it with my tongue. My fingers make quick work of her jeans and my lips slowly trail down her tummy to rest just below her belly button as I pull her jeans down her legs and toss them to land somewhere across the room.

Is this real? If it's not then the universe is one clever and cruel mother-fucker. This is better than any dream I've ever had. Ever. A thin strip of black lace and my boxers are the only articles of clothing remaining. I kiss the spot where delicate black lace meets soft tan skin. My eyes glance up and Elena is watching me with undiluted desire in her eyes. Without breaking eye contact she lifts her hips slightly so I can slide the underwear down her legs. Her knees fall gently to the side, the lips lining her pussy glisten, begging to be kissed. Licked. Sucked. I get one glorious long lick in her folds and she's pulling and clawing at my shoulders.

I'm nowhere close to done, but I follow the bidding of her hands as she pulls me back to her mouth. "Later," she whispers as she manages to slide my boxers down as she rolls me to the other side of the bed. She throws one long perfect leg across my waist until she's straddling me, then leans further over to grab a condom from her bedside table drawer.

My fingers dig deep into her hips, but thumbs rubbing up and down the soft skin of her belly, guiding her grinding pelvis. She leans forward and I suck her tongue back into my mouth. My hands run from her hips up over her breasts to her shoulders and then back again as she reaches between us to roll the condom down my shaft.

I think I might pass out from sheer pleasure when she slides down on top of me. I've never felt anything like this. Never. She pauses just briefly to let herself adjust to the way I'm filling her, stretching her, then she starts to move and I think I might pass out. She speeds up and rolls her head back on a moan. Not that I'm not enjoying the fuck outta this view -because I definitely AM, but I'm not ready for this to be over yet, and if she keeps that up I'm gonna be done real quick.

I sit up enough to grab her and roll her so that she's back underneath me. Her knees pull up the sides of my chest. I grab each of her hands in mine and bring them above her head, pressing them into the mattress. I slide my fingers back and forth in between hers with each thrust. It's not long before she pulls her hands free to dig her nails int my back as she arches her back with a scream at the same time I thrust once more and collapse on top of her completely spent.

 **I love non-dates :) See y'all soon!**


	7. Chapter 7 -Weight Of The World

**Hallo! Sorry this is later than I wanted! So much work, so much adulting. Ugh. Again, I'm pretty happy with the way this one turned out though... I hope you will be too. I also hope I'll have time to get caught up on the fics I'm reading... I have about three on my list that I wanna get through, so maybe we can discuss those at some point in the near future :) In the meantime, here's a nice long smut filled chapter seven :))) OK, smut filled and a little heavy. Fair warning. ;)**

Freaking fairies. I don't care what magical name the makers of cell phones put on the different alarm tones, waking up before 6am blows. I silence the twinkling fairy bell sounds on my phone and stretch my arms and legs. There's a delicious soreness between my legs that I haven't felt in… too long. It makes me smile. My nipples pebble against the morning chill and I clutch the soft cotton sheet closer as I turn over. Damon is still sound asleep beside me, one arm curled under the pillow his face is pressed into, his other hanging off the end of the mattress. The sheet covers his ass and one leg, but the smooth contours of his muscular back are in plain view.

Is that… "Oops," I whisper as I notice the pink lines near his shoulder blades from my fingernails. I touch one gently with my fingertip. He still doesn't stir. He's like a hibernating heater. Just laying there dead to the world radiating heat, his chest rising and falling evenly and peacefully. At least he doesn't snore… I'm gonna be late. Time to get moving.

I slide quietly out of bed and head to the kitchen. I pop a pod of coffee in the keurig to brew and head to the shower. Steam rises and the hot water washes over me. As I gently loofa my favorite body wash across my skin, I smile at the memory of last night. Awash in a post-orgasmic haze the weight of Damon's heavy body on mine was a comfort. Eventually he'd rolled to the side, slipped into the bathroom and then back to bed, shutting off the lamp as he crawled between the sheets.

"I'll call my uber in a second," he'd said.

"Ok," I'd agreed as I snuggled into his chest and closed my eyes. I'm not sure how long I'd slept or what woke me, but I opened my eyes to see a glimmer of moonlight reflected in Damon's staring back at me. I lifted my face and lightly pressed my lips to his. He responded in turn and before long he'd dug another condom from my drawer, pressed me into the mattress, and I'd willingly wrapped my heels around his hips. The head of his cock nudged into me slowly and then all at once as he sleepily kissed me again.

Now that I think about it a wave of anxiety washes over me, undoing the therapeutic relaxation of the hot water. It was good, don't get me wrong, it was _really_ good. It was familiar. It felt like we'd known each other forever. It evoked visions of lazy Sunday morning sex, breakfast in bed, slow dancing in the kitchen to music only we could hear, entire weekends spent at home and naked.

This wasn't my plan. This wasn't my plan or anything I'd felt with anyone I'd slept with multiple times, let alone for the first time or with someone I've 'known' a grand total of a week. I don't know what to do with this. And like I said, I don't like doing things that I don't do well. Especially when it comes to my personal life. There's a deep dark weighted cavernous box of issues that I've wrapped and sealed with compartmentalization and independence. I feel the tape at the edges of that box opening, and I don't like it. I'm not ready to deal with it. Best to shut it down before it gets any worse.

I mentally seal the box and finish rinsing the suds from my freshly scrubbed skin. Is that a… lol. Well, turn about is fair play I suppose as I run my fingers over what looks like a bite shaped bruise on the underside of my right breast. Damn, last night was fun. Let's leave it at that. I smile as the anxiety fades.

I jump out of the shower, twist my hair on top of my head, securing it with an over-sized clip. A quick layer of lotion, a sheer-but-still-comfortable bra and panty set and my surgical green scrub bottoms. I venture back to the kitchen to grab my coffee which has cooled to the point of chug-ability. I take a sip as I walk to the side of the bed Damon is spread over. I catch myself brushing the hair out of his eyes before I realize what I'm doing. I press a cold hand between his shoulder blades and gently shake.

"Damon," I start quietly.

He stirs on a quick inhale and sleepily mumbles "Hmm," as he rolls over and blinks his eyes open. A glint of a smile spreads across half of his face. "You're dressed," he states, grazing over me with his eyes. "Kind of," he clarifies with a widening grin. I take another sip of my coffee and smile back.

"I have rounds, you have to go."

He stands out of bed boldly naked. I can't help but lower my gaze to his morning erection. No wonder my vag hurts so good. I smile again and feel a flush crawl up my cheeks. He's not small. Not in the slightest. I realize I'm still staring and raise my eyes back to his amused gaze.

"You sure you have to go? I make one hell of a naked breakfast." He's still smirking and I kind of hate him for it. Except that I don't at all. He leans closer and I quickly raise my coffee mug between us, finishing the rest of what's in my glass. I offer a quick peck to the corner of his mouth but turn quickly back to the top drawer of my dresser and pull a long sleeved black shirt over my torso.

"Look, I'm gonna be real honest here. I don't know how to do this… the morning after friend thing. Yesterday was nice and last night was great, but I still don't do the relationship thing."

"I didn't exactly propose, Elena." There's that smirk again. "I thought last night was pretty great too. I'm just saying I'd like it to happen again."

"I wouldn't be opposed to it happening again either. But I want to be clear that my stance on dating and relationships hasn't changed. I'm just… I'm not built for it." I realize how strange this probably sounds to him, and I'd really like to not dig into my baggage this morning -or ever. I hope he doesn't push the issue as I continue, "Fuck friends I could do. Without the sleepovers from now on." The sleepover was definitely to blame for the familiarity freakout in the morning. So if I ex-nay the sleepovers we could keep this on a more superficial level.

He looks at me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to figure out. "I'm not sure how to deal with that much frank honesty from a beautiful woman this early in the morning." He's pulling on his boxers as I grab a pair of socks. He follows me out of the bedroom and collects his jeans on the way down the hallway. He slides them on, grabs the phone out of his pocket and pulls open the uber app.

The phone slides back in his pocket, his shirt slides back over his pretty pretty chest, and he runs a quick hand through his still tussled hair. I finish tying my shoes, shrug into my pea coat and tie it tight around my waist. He slides his feet back into his shoes and follows me out the door. I lock the deadbolt and turn around into his broad chest. He lifts my chin with his thumb and forefinger, kissing me sweetly.

"Thanks for last night, Elena. I'll call you soon." He continues before I can interrupt, "Not for a date or anything, but definitely for another non-date." The smirk is back and I smile and head toward the elevator.

"Sounds good," I glance up and he almost laughs at me. We take the elevator in electrically charged silence. I'd imagine his thoughts are close to mine remembering what it felt like being pressed against the doors we're staring at. I glance at him sideways as we walk off the elevator and find he's glancing sideways at me right back.

"Have a nice day, Damon." I say with a smile and a little laugh as I walk out of the elevator and head toward my car.

͚

"Honey, we're going to brunch at your mom's on Sunday right?" Says the petite blonde resting on her elbows leaning as far away as she can from the guy to her left.

"Yeah, at ten," I smile back, placing the amaretto sour she'd ordered on the bar in front of her. The creeper to her left gets the hint and backs up. I give him a nod and a half smile, "Anything else I can get you man?" He shakes his head and walks toward the outside patio.

It's a tough line to walk. There's a kind of an unspoken rule, an understanding of sorts between a bartender and the female patrons at the bar. Once they're been there a few times and I know them enough to know that they're not completely bat-shit crazy, I have no problem being their boyfriend and/or husband when they need to get someone to back off a little. The tougher part comes in not alienating the male customer. It just takes a little finesse. Blonde chick is happily sipping her drink, giggling with her friend to her right, and rejected guy is back to scouting other prospects outside.

I've missed this. I really have. Sure I own the bar, but I still love playing behind it. Especially on a busy night like tonight. It makes for good morale with the other staff, and I genuinely like the work. So, here I am. Rag in my back pocket, jeans well worn in all the right places, black button-up that's starting to cling to a thin sheen of sweat. It's been a busy Friday night at 47. And I couldn't be happier. Unless Elena was here instead of saving lives. I glance at the clock, 11:30pm. I wonder how late her shift will go. And I wonder if she'll text me to come over again when she get's home. I live for those late night come-over messages. Even if she still refuses to let me stay the night.

It's been three weeks since P-day. That's paragliding day, but you caught on to that right? Thought so. In the past three weeks, Elena and I have worked out quite the routine. Two or three days a week we meet at Greenlake park to go running. In addition, the days she has off are filled with some sort of explorer-club type activity. Usually including a random mixing of Ric, Jenna, Caroline, Tyler, Matt, and Rebecca. So far we've conquered Woodland Park Zoo where Elena couldn't quit gushing over the baby snow leopards or the baby gorilla, but the 3-year old giraffe was what really made her eyes light up. The aquarium, where even I had to admit the sea otters were pretty cute; The science center where Elena was absolutely creeped out by the butterfly exhibit (there were too many and 'are they on me?') -we left early; And the Bellevue Square mall.

You'd think that last one would have been my least favorite. I'd have thought so too before we went. The mall itself was a normal mall –so I'd essentially wanted to blow my brains out- but the blow job I got in the parking garage after overshadowed any negative connotation I could have made with the excursion.

Oh, did I neglect to mention that little detail? We do these little group activities and then Elena and I end our days by fucking each other's brains out. It might be my favorite workout plan I've ever done. My loft, her apartment, my car in a parking garage, and that one time… well, let me just show you.

" _This is an absolutely ungodly time to be awake and running." She says, breathing heavily as we come to a stop at the end of the outer Greenlake loop. There's a light layer of frost covering the ground that the rising sun will melt away within the hour. Her nose and cheeks are flushed red, puffs of air rising from her mouth with each exhale as she squints up at me._

" _You're the one who said you wanted to get a run in before rounds this morning," I laugh and pull her ear warmer down over her eyes. "I'm just here to make sure the geese don't eat you."_

 _She rights her ear warmer and looks to either side warily, muttering something that sounds a lot like 'little fuckers' under her breath. I'm pretty sure they've all flown south by now, but the paranoid look on her face when I told her how cute the baby geese were every spring waddling around the park –well, it was priceless. Apparently when she was little she had gone to the zoo and tried to pick a fight with a goose that ended up snapping at one of her pigtails. I'd pay good money for the home video footage of that fight, but Elena assures me there is none. She's been wary of geese ever since._

 _And because I still think it's so comical I make a squaking sound and nip at the back of her thighs with my hand. She jumps five feet in the air then whacks me over my good shoulder. "It's not funny," she proclaims as she pinches my chest. I jump back and she chases. I make a good game of it for a minute before I turn around and let her run right into me. And then because I can I lower my face to hers and kiss the chill from her lips._

 _Her hands thread through my hair as she pulls herself closer. "What time is it?" she whispers against the corner of my mouth. "Almost 5:30," is my reply as I nudge her earlobe with my nose and start to kiss down her neck. No one should taste this good and smell this good sweaty from a just-completed run._

" _Oh good," she says and pulls me into a grove of densely populated trees. Once we're several yards into the grove she pushes me against the sturdy trunk of a giant tree with her hips and kisses me again. I have a pretty good idea where she's taking this and we haven't seen a single other soul at the park this morning, and we are in the middle of a thick spattering of trees… I'm game._

 _I turn us around and spin her in my arms so her ass is nestled against my growing cock. She places her hands on the trunk of the tree that was just digging into my back and arches her back teasing her ass against me._

 _I slide one hand around her waist, the other down the front of her running pants, teasing the top of her panty line. "We're in public Elena." I whisper into her ear before letting my lips tug on her earlobe. I slide my fingers inside the underwear they'd been flirting with and down rub, almost gently pet, the warm folds between her thighs. She's quickly becoming slippery wet, as she moans an "I know," and starts thrusting her hips around my fingers._

" _You better hurry, I can't imagine we'll have the park to ourselves for long," she adds as she reaches her hand back to milk my cock through my shorts. She turns her face up toward mine and gives me a devilish grin, eyes full and dark with desire._

 _My hands slide around to her backside and I claim her lips with mine as I peel the tight waist band of her running pants down just far enough to give me access. I knead one ass-cheek with each hand -can't have her getting cold- while our tongues continue sliding against one another. Her hands reach behind her and undo the knot at the top of my shorts, pushing the front of them down until she has my full heavy hard cock in her hand and I can't help but start thrusting once, twice._

 _Thank god I always keep a condom in my wallet, and my wallet in the inner pocket of my running jacket. I grab the condom out, letting my wallet fall to the ground as I grab her hands and place them firmly against the tree in front of us. I sheath myself with the condom, grab my cock in one hand and line it up at the entrance of her waiting pussy. Good Christ she feels amazing. The first (two) times were not a fluke. She's plenty wet, ready for me and as I slide the head of my penis inside I think I might stop breathing. I try to go slow, give her time to stretch and adjust around me, and let me feel her adjusting to my size, filling her._

 _I try but I don't last long in slow mode and a seat myself fully inside her in one hard thrust. She let's out a groan that the migrating geese might hear from way down south and pushes back against me eagerly. And that's the end of slow and easy._

We'd finished in just enough time to cover up and head out of the middle of the woods as we heard people approaching. The heavy breathing and flushed faces could have easily been attributed to a good morning run, but the messiness of Elena's ponytail was a bit much for your average run. None of the new park visitors stared for too long though as I pulled a giggling Elena behind me to the parking lot so I think we're ok.

I'm throwing a tray of shot glasses in the dishwasher under the bar as Ric makes an appearance from the office in the back. Todd had gone on break a little bit ago, and Ric usually covers if it's busy so one person at the bar doesn't get too swamped.

We work side by side trading jokes and light-hearted insults until the latest rush dies down. I'm wiping a couple spots on the bar as he asks, "So what are you and Elena doing tomorrow?"

"What do you mean? We aren't doing anything. There's not a 'we'."

He looks at me skeptically. I continue, "She isn't going to make it paragliding on Sunday though, she ended up having to work."

"That must be a hard schedule to date around."

"Dude. We aren't dating. We're just sort of… hanging out. Usually with your ass and about seven others."

"Except when the rest of us leave. Then you're just _hanging out_ ," he air quotes. "And fucking."

"Well yeah," I can't not grin a bit sheepishly at that.

"I hate to break it to you buddy, but that's dating."

Is he right? I don't think so. I've fucked plenty of women in the past and I've dated fairly few. So I just ignore him as we continue to work alongside one another.

A couple hours later as we're getting ready for last call I see Elena literally stumble through the door. She looks good –adorably ruffled. She also looks… off. Something isn't right. She makes her way over to the corner of the bar where I am and nearly falls off the barstool she's trying to climb on.

"Whoops." She giggles as she looks up at me with a fuzzy disconnected gaze. She's a lot more than tipsy.

"Hey there sailor."

She attempts to rest her chin on her hand, elbow resting on the bar, but misses. "Hey." She smiles with her eyes half closed.

I slide her a glass of water, which she seems confused by at first sip. She looks at me with forehead wrinkled. "Drink it," I command. She does. "Rough night? Are you… ok?"

"I'm lonely Damon." There are actual tears in her eyes as she looks up at me and I don't know how to handle this. Her chin starts to quiver and I can't take it.

"Hey Ric," I call to the back as I move to the outside of the bar I've been behind the majority of the night. He pokes his head out around the corner, takes one look at Elena and steps to take my place behind the bar. His face a mask of genuine concern.

"Hey pretty girl, you ok?" He asks. She just looks up and him and sniffles as tears start to fall. I scoop her up from her side and help her to stand, wrapping her in my arms.

"C'mon," I say as I lead her out the back entrance and to the stairwell that leads up to my loft. She lets out a single strangled sob and it feels like my chest is being put through a grater. "Sshh, shh, shh, shh, shh," I soothe as I smooth her hair and keep her from stumbling over her unsteady feet.

We make it up to my loft, I lock the door behind her and lead us to the couch. I scoop her up and sit on the soft leather. She curls into my side and clings to my shirt as she lets the tears fall.

"What happened..." I find myself wanting to add baby to the end of the sentence, but this may not be the time. By way of answer she simply continues to silently sob into my chest. I'm at a loss. I can't do anything but hold her tighter and soothe my hand up and down her back until she's ready to talk.

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(an hour earlier)

I really don't like whiskey I ponder as the fifth shot slides down my throat, warming my belly. Tequila and vodka are for parties, champagne for celebrations, wine for romance or relaxing. Today whiskey is for forgetting. For numbing. Tonight whiskey is because the world is a fucking terrible place and i'm going to die alone. I'm in a dark place. And I need to be numb. So, whiskey.

I don't really remember the name of the bar we're at. It's the after work bar of choice for Bonnie and the ER crew. What a shitty night. In the world of trauma we see a lot of stuff that the general population is completely ignorant to. And that's ok. Somedays I wish I could be ignorant to the general state of humanity. The 15 year old prostitute found unconscious by a dumpster who's phone won't stop ringing. The police answer it to be asked by her pimp when she'd be back out for business. The 36-weeks pregnant woman with a blood alcohol level five times the legal limit.

Tonight it's not humanity that's got me down. It's a notebook. A small 2x3" pocket-sized notebook with a royal blue cover bent and well worn. Half the pages are missing, most of the pages that remain are blank. A few have a couple words scrawled on them in elegant script with a slight wobble from the hand unsteady with old age of the author. A couple dates and times, a couple restaurants, a couple reminders, a grocery list. Nothing really of note.

It belonged to my last patient of the day. He'd come in as an MVC (motor vehicle collision) but it turns out that his trauma had a medical cause. He was an unrestrained driver of a car that was struck head on by an SUV when he veered into oncoming traffic. But my job was fairly limited because the reason he veered into oncoming traffic was that he'd had a heart attack. So he was a trauma patient yes, but he was an MI (myocardial infarction –heart attack) patient first. Since he never came back from the MI, there was no need to intervene on the trauma components.

The whole case took about half an hour. I didn't have anything else to do for my shift so I stayed to help clean up afterwards. We folded his brown polyester pants with the leather belt neatly and put them in a belongings bag. His wallet had his ID and a couple cards. No photos of family or loved ones. Registration said that he was in the hospital system but didn't have any family. No one listed as an emergency contact.

We folded his light blue snap-front western-style shirt that had been tucked so neatly into his pants. The notebook fell out of the breast pocket as I neatly placed the folded shirt on top of the pants in the bag. And for some reason, this notebook broke my heart. This notebook should matter. Someone should want to have this. There should be someone who wanted to have this little notebook returned to them. It was important to this man. Something that he always had with him. Something that he kept track of little notes and things to remember. And someone should want it. Someone should want the notebook that they remembered grandpa always had on him. It should make someone smile with fond memories every time they looked at it and held it in their hands. And there was no one. No one to want the notebook. No one to be reminded of this man.

I couldn't throw it away. Someone should have it. Someone HAD to be reminded of him. There had to be SOMEONE who wanted this little object that lived so close to this man's heart, always in his shirt pocket. I handed it to the charge nurse Janette, who looked at me quizzically.

"This was in his front pocket. When they contact someone about his death they may want it."

"There was no one to-"

"They want it. Someone _has_ to want it. They should have it. It should _matter_ to someone."

A kind look of compassion came over Janette's eyes. "Okay," she said quietly, and took the little blue notebook from my shaking hand. She placed in next to her on the counter and patted the cover gently. My eyes started to burn. I had to get out of there. I turned around and felt the choking panic overtake me. I was alone. I've always been alone, I can't be alone. If I were to die I'd have no one… No one to care. The tears spill over my lashes, the panic has a firm grip around my chest. Panic. I can't breathe. I close my eyes and try to take a deep breath. It does me no good. I've grabbed my things and am racing for the cool air of the outside.

"Dr. G, drinks at…" whatever place we were at. Bonnie had called as I burst through the doors of the ambulance bay. I could only nod. The cold air hit my face like a bucket of water. Streaks of tears froze in messy patterns down my cheeks. The crispness of the air chilling a path through my nose deep into my lungs. And suddenly I could breathe again. My eyes were still closed. I counted my breaths. Five deep breaths in and I could open my eyes. I wiped my face with my fingers and took one more calming breath through my nose. I sat on the bench for a few moments trying to decide if I wanted to call it a night and go home, or if I wanted to risk being around people.

Tonight I needed people. I didn't want to be alone. So here I am. Six shots in. Five? I don't remember. And I have people. I have friends. They don't know a lot about me, but we are family none the less. Medicine is like that in a funny way. There's a certain bond that exists among those of us who have seen what we see. Those who know the exact sound that a mother makes when she looses a child. The faces that you look at who have each given their all trying to bring back a person's mother, child, father, son. It's a strange bond perhaps, but it's real.

The dim lights of the bar swirl around in front of me. It may be time to have a glass of water. The crowd is starting to thin out. Nurses, EMTs and the ER doc are saying goodbyes and getting calling cabs or friends/family for rides home. I have no one to call. Not in the middle of the night. My chest starts to tighten again. I have no one… _Breathe_ , I remind myself. It's almost 0130. I don't want to go home to my empty apartment.

It's Friday night. If I hurry, I can make it in time. I settle by tab at the bar and pull open my uber app as I head outside.

Fifteen minutes later the car pulls up in front of the swankily lit bar in an otherwise sleepy neighborhood. It's busy. There are so many twinkly lights. Then again, I'm seeing at least two of the driver in front of me, so that assessment may not be accurate.

I mumble a thank you and walk to the heavy wooden door of 47. And I mean heavy. I'm pulled off balance by the weight of the door as I pull it open. I narrow my eyes trying to focus. I see him behind the bar. Smiling and handsome and solid. Shiny black hair, perfect white smile, twinkling blue eyes, solid body covered by a well-fitting black button-down shirt. Jeans worn in all the right places.

I smile as I make my way to the corner of the bar. There's a stool open and I try to climb on it. It's really tall though. Did they have to make the bar stools so tall? "Whoops," I giggle as I slip almost off. I rest my hand on my chin and look into the pair of blue eyes I came here to see. He's looking at me with a strange look on his face. He slides me a glass with ice and a clear liquid in it. It's probably a bad idea to drink vodka after all the whiskey I've had, but whatever honestly at this point. I take a big gulp and, wait… That's not vodka. Is that… water? Well, thats- "Drink it," he commands.

Ok, fine. Bossy. I take a few more sips under his watchful eye. "Rough night?" He asks. I feel tears start to well up again. He asks me if I'm ok and he looks so genuinely concerned that I can't hold it together any more.

"I'm lonely Damon," I get out before the tears spill over.

What happens next is a bit of a blur. Suddenly Damon is next to me and I'm standing. He's helping me and Ric is there asking if I'm ok and all I can do is silently cry. Then we're moving, Damon and I. We go to his loft and he holds me on the couch as gut wrenching sobs tear from my chest. And he's there. He's just there and he holds me and he's there. I might be ruining his shirt, or at the very least wrinkling it by how hard I'm fisting it in my hands, but he just rubs my back and let's me be. He let's me be, lets me exist but not alone.

It's a nice feeling. Being held and comforted and allowed to cry. Is this what people with families felt? It's really nice. Slowly my sobs quiet to whimpers, then to hiccups. My face is buried in his chest and the warm comfort of the rhythm of his heart lulls me to comforted silence. I keep my eyes closed and take a shaky sleepy deep breath and sigh. I snuggle further into his chest. He's so warm.

I feel myself being lifted up. One arm under my knees, one arm around my back. My arms cling to his chest as he cradles me walking down the hall and gently places me on his soft down comforter. He goes to move away for me and I sit up with a start, eyes wide. Don't leave me! I can't say the words out loud, but I think them. And I think he hears me.

"I'm right here," he whispers as he leans down to take my shoes and socks off. He peels my jeans off, followed by my top and bra. I feel the silky cotton of one of his t-shirts slide down over my chest and torso. His clothes are so much nicer than mine. Softer. And they smell better. Like clean laundry with a little hint of him mixed in. He slides me underneath the covers and pulls the comforter over top of me.

He's gone for a few minutes but comes back wearing just a pair of soft flannel pants. He crouches down nest to me and wipes the tear stains from my face with a warm washcloth. I'd feel bad if I'd had makeup on, but I'm pretty sure I've cried it all off, so there's nothing to stain the soft cotton with. He gently wipes each of my eyes and I look up at his face. Two of his faces actually. They swirl around and slowly blend into one very pretty face. He presses a soft kiss to my forehead before taking the washcloth back to the bathroom.

I'm so tired. My eyelids are like sandbag weights and I let them drift close. I notice the change when he turns the light off and feel the weight of him sliding into the other side of bed behind me. I stay curled on my side, and he curls around me. His arm wraps around my chest, his fingers interlacing with mine over my chest and pulling me closer back into him. I take one more shaky breath and let myself drift the rest of the way to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8 -Holding On And Letting Go

**Hi all. This chapter is a little short, but what I'm working on next would make this chapter too long, so I'm thinking it's better to post this now? With the knowledge that what's next will be coming soon? Do yall have a preference? Would you rather wait longer for a longer chapter? Still trying to figure the process out :) Also... this feels a little heavy. More so in light of recent events. So while we all cope with whatever we're feeling right now, just know that in this story (as I truly believe happens in the real world) love will always win over fear.**

"Mama! MAMA! COME BACK! DON'T LEAVE ME!" I'd woken up in cold sweats the same way every night for several years. My face wet with tears the same as from the raindrops that night. I could still smell the melted rubber of the tires on the pavement, still see the flashing lights swirling around me in a dizzying haze. I could still feel the stiff polyester of the fire-proof jacket the paramedic wore as he restrained me from jumping off the bridge to follow the car they'd just pulled me from. I can sill hear the slurping sound the car made as it sunk into the mud at the bottom of the embankment. Five bubbles rising to the top. The first one was big like a kickball, the last one raindrop sized with the tiniest pop of finality.

After that I don't remember much sound. Everything was a blur of confusion. I was wrapped in a steel wool blanket and taken to the back of a police car to warm up. The paramedic stayed with me until the woman with the grey dress and curly blonde hair came. Susan was her name. Susan smelled like grilled cheese and blackberries. A weird combination. She had a kind smile and cold hands.

"Elena, I'm Susan. Why don't you come with me and we'll go somewhere more comfortable."

But I didn't want to go. I wanted to go back under the mud with my parents. Why weren't they coming somewhere more comfortable with us? She pulled my hand in her cold one and led me to a waiting suv. There was a booster seat in it like my friend Ellie had in her car. Susan buckled me in and got in the driver's seat. I pressed my face to the cold glass, and waved a little wave with my hand. Just in case my mom had got out of the car and could see me.

I spent that night on a little cot in the DCFS office. The next morning I was shuffled to my first foster home. I wouldn't see my mom or dad again. Apparently the combination of injuries from the car accident and the water damage from the drowning made an open casket funeral 'inappropriate'.

The first night in my new room was quiet. Or at least it had been until my nightmares made me scream. John and Isobel had both come rushing into my room in a panic. They'd held me as I cried and assured me it was a bad dream. The next night Isobel came more slowly and on her own. "Sshhh," she'd patted my head. Soon, they stopped coming in. My nightmares still woke me, I still cried, but I cried in solitude. I wanted my own mom so bad it ached. After a few weeks John and Isobel took me back to Susan's office. They'd packed my backpack with my clothes in it which I thought was strange. I remember them saying something about it not working out. That they thought I needed more than they could give me.

The next house I went to I tried to need less. I kept my nightmares to myself. Even when I wouldn't sleep, I'd try to be quiet. I'd never ask for anything, not even a snack when I was so hungry my tummy hurt. The results were the same. And so I'd been bounced from temporary home to temporary home. Some meant well, more than others, some were just flat out cruel. And each time I thought if I could just do a little better someone would let me stay. If I did better in school, if I played more quietly, if I didn't ask to go on school field trips. Each time there would be something. Something I had done that made people leave. Each time the look of… disappointment on Susan's face.

I haven't had a nightmare for a few years, I didn't have one last night, but that's what I'm thinking of as I lay warm and comfortable in Damon's bed. I've been awake for about an hour. I'm pretty sure the hibernating heater behind me is still asleep. I don't dare move to find out. I don't want to wake him. So I'm just laying here remembering. Remembering the nights I woke alone, cold, afraid, and screaming for my mother. "You can't scream so, Elena, there are other people in this house that need to sleep," I'd been told.

I wipe a tear from my cheek before it can fall on Damon's pillow case. All I'd wanted was my mother. At least at first. When it sank in that she wasn't coming to tuck me in, all I'd wanted was someone. Someone to see me. Someone to care. I needed to know that I wasn't alone. Each house it would start over, the hope. And each time it hurt more when hope was lost. Each time I learned a little more to take care of myself. I learned to cuddle an extra pillow when I was scared. Now my bed at home has no less than seven pillows.

I learned to squeeze my eyes shut so hard that the tears stopped and hide further under the covers when I was scared. Now I had a hard time crying at all. Last night was the first time I'd cried in I don't even know how long.

And now here I am. Terrified. That's what I am. Absolutely terrified. Because it felt so good to just let the exterior crack just a little. It felt really good to wake up warm and surrounded by Damon's strong arms instead of soft but cold pillows. It feels amazing to be here now; warm, surrounded. It felt good to be taken care of last night. It felt good to cry. What terrifies me the most is that I want more. And it's going to hurt like a bitch when I can't have it.

What if Damon wakes up and realizes what a mess I was last night? What's going to happen when he realizes what a bundle of mixed signals I've turned this into? I mean, he's been on board with the way things have been going. He didn't ask for me to show up a mess at his bar last night. He didn't ask for an extra overnight guest.

Or what if he wakes up and want's the opposite. What if he wants that too, even just for a minute?

Last night he had been so… sweet. And he is still here. So far. I think that's also why I don't dare move. I'm afraid if I wake him he'll realize I'm too much and he'll leave. It's bound to happen, be it this morning or in a few months. Statistically speaking.

Last night was the first time since I was a child that I'd let myself need someone else. The first time that I'd let myself be vulnerable. And while I wasn't really feeling the after effects of the whiskey, I definitely have a vulnerability hangover.

I feel completely exposed. All my walls, all those layers I've so beautifully constructed crumbled last night, and they're not back up yet. I just want to lay here for just a moment with them down. Enjoy one last moment with his warm chest behind mine. Because it feels nice. It feels really nice.

There are already micro-holes poking through my bubble of security. Damon's arm is still draped around my waist. The security I feel is slowly giving way to constriction the longer I lay her and let my brain wander. Panic is threatening it's hold, sliding from my belly to my throat like a tightening boa constrictor. I don't want to be like this. But I don't know how to be anything else.

Honestly, it's not fair to Damon. The business of I can't get attached mixed with the tearful clinginess of last night. Did he think I was clingy? Does the fuck-friends status of our relationship bother him? For all I know he thinks it's as fantastic as I did at first. Do I not still? So many questions this morning. I can't even make sense to myself.

Until I sort what I feel and what I want out in my brain it's best to box all the baggage back up and carry on as previous. I sniffle my nose and wipe any remaining trace of tears from my cheeks. Even if I could stay here wrapped up and surrounded by Damon all day, my bladder is screaming that it won't let me.

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I wonder how long I can get away with staying here, with holding her like this. I've been awake for about an hour now and I don't dare move a muscle. I'm pretty sure Elena is still asleep. I'm not sure what happened last night, but she seemed like she could use the rest. I'm happy to leave my arm draped around her waist, the way it had been when I'd woken up. I'm happy to leave my face almost buried in her hair. I'm happy to lay motionless with her soft body curled in mine.

I can't get Alaric's voice out of my head. The one that said we were dating. I can see how he thought that, even if I didn't agree. The thing is, the longer I lay here with her in my arms, the more I realize that I'd like to be. That's kind of a scary thought.

I mean, we've got a pretty good thing going on as is right now. Why rock the boat? Maybe because of how goddamn _right_ this feels. Elena had been pretty clear on where she wanted this relationship to go. Then again, Elena was the one who showed up last night. She looked lost and… alone. More importantly, she looked like she didn't want to be either of those things. A protective instinct fired within me that I didn't know I had. And she _let_ me take care of her. I don't have to be dating her to know that doesn't happen every day; or ever really. And she is still here. At least until she wakes up. Which is the chief reason I'm so disinclined to move.

I've spent an hour going around and around in circles in my head. All while staring at the way the sunlight is glowing over her soft dark hair. All the while wondering how she gets her skin _that_ soft. I've literally never felt anything softer, more smooth. I've memorized the exact angle her shoulder meets her neck. The exact curve her hip makes as it melts into her tiny waist underneath my tshirt. The soft heaviness of her breasts as they rest just above my arm that's draped over her.

I've never been one to lay still for so long, but I'm not even close to tired of laying here just breathing her in. Something changed last night. Something I can't go back from. I feel something for this girl. I'm not ready to quantify it yet, but it's there. Does she feel it too? Does she want to feel it? She's been pretty clear up to this point, but she _has_ to feel the shift. It can't be just me.

I can't let myself get caught up in the what ifs. I'll go crazy. I feel her shift her hand and she sniffles like she's waking up. I'm scared to leave this cocoon of just _being_ for the inevitable conversation that has to happen. I take a deep breath and press a light kiss to the spot where her neck curves into shoulder. Bidding a soft farewell to the warm comfort that has been the last hour. I'm surprised by how badly I want it to be the way I start every day.

"Good morning," I hoarsely whisper. She freezes in place, all that softness now board-like stiffness. Uh-oh.

͚

"Good morning," he whispers in the most sexy sleepy morning voice I've ever heard. Crap, he's awake. I freeze. I have no idea what to do now. I should have snuck out as soon as I woke up.

"Hey," I find myself smiling stiffly as I sit up and dangle my feet over the edge of the bed. I wrap my arms around myself in insecurity, trying to emergently re-erect the walls I'd let fall. His weight shifts behind me and I glance back to see him sitting up leaning against the headboard watching me warily; like I'm a bomb that might explode at any moment.

He smiles. "How are you feeling?"

The corners of my mouth turn up in an uncertain smile. "I'm not sure whether to say sorry or thank you. Both I suppose."

"Do you wanna talk about it? What happened to you last night, I mean. Are you ok?" He's speaking very quickly like he's nervous and unsure how to approach.

Work. This will make it easier. "Yeah, just a rough night at work followed by a lot of whiskey." He's silent. I glance back again and he looks deep in thought. I stand and glance around for my clothes. I find them neatly folded on a chair near my side of the bed. I move to pull my jeans on as Damon gets out of bed and heads to the bathroom. I trade his soft t-shirt for my worn one and bra.

I'm at the door leading to the hallway at the same time he comes out of the bathroom pulling a shirt on wearing the same flannel pants I vaguely remember from last night. He stops short and I pull up on my toes to avoid running directly into his chest. He smiles, and I sigh a soft smile. He waves his hand allowing me to leave the bedroom first. He follows close behind.

"Do you have plans today? Can I make you breakfast?" I don't have plans, but I'm about to refuse anyways. He looks at my face reading me like a book in a way that simultaneously scares and delights me. "Coffee at least? Please."

I can't tell him no.

"Coffee please?" I'm not sure if I'm asking or agreeing.

͚

Ok, this is awkward. I'm leaning against the sink coffee mug in hand, staring at the steam rising looking for the answers on how to proceed. She's leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen looking past the rim of her mug like she's looking for the closest emergency exit. Neither of us have said a word.

She parts her lips and takes a breath in like she's about to say something but stops halfway and decides to take another sip instead. Her gaze shifts from the tiles on the floor to the scene outside the window. Finally her gaze lands my direction. She startles like she wasn't expecting me to be looking back at her. She doesn't drop her gaze, and her face settles into an uneasy half smile.

"Here's the thing Elena. I don't know what to say here. Or do really. I know what I think. And I'm gonna try your blunt honest approach from our last sleepover." Why was the awkward conversation now after we didn't have sex, by the way? Why was the morning after more-than-just-sleeping with her so much easier? Is this what feelings do to shit? God why was this even complicated?! _Because you're invested in the outcome now_ says a voice from the recesses of my brain. _Ssh. I'm in the middle of something_ , I think back. Great, now I'm talking to myself.

"Alaric informed me yesterday that you and I are dating."

"But we're not-"

"I know." I cut her off and continue before I chicken out. "But I think I might want to be." I carefully gauge her reaction. Her face stays blank, so I continue tentatively. "I know you 'don't do that' and I'm not sure why. According to Alaric, the hanging out and the hooking up constitutes dating." I pause as something occurs to me. I never told Alaric that we've been sleeping together. Or not sleeping, but, well, you know. How did he-

"I told him," She answers the question I'm asking inside my head. "I'm guessing by the confused look on your face you hadn't talked to him about it yet and are just now wondering how he know?" She's almost giggling at me. I'd be irked if she wasn't so adorable. "I'm sorry, I hope you don't mind. It just sort of slipped out at lunch the other day."

"Hold up, you do lunch with my best friend?"

"Well, yeah. Jenna had an appointment at the hospital the other day, he called and we met for lunch in the cafeteria." She's looking at me that way she does sometimes when she half thinks I'm funny, half thinks I'm ridiculous.

"We're getting off track." What was I saying again? Right. "The point is, I know you don't date, and I don't know why, but here's the thing Elena. What we've had these last three weeks has been great. But last night was… so much more. I want that Elena. I want to see where that goes."

͚

 _I want that too_ , says a voice in my head. Another voice answers, _but I don't want to deal with the fallout when it's gone_. He's waiting for me to say something.

"Thank you for last night, Damon."

"I don't like where this is going."

"I'm just… I need you Damon. And it terrifies me to say that. I'm not good at needing people, because they always leave. And it wrecks me. The best way I've found to deal with that is to just not. I'm not saying it's a healthy coping mechanism, but it _is_ effective." I got the words out. They're raw, honest, and they don't make me feel better. I don't know where to look. I can't look at him. I do anyways. He puts his empty coffee mug in the sink behind him and moves to stand in front of me.

He sets my mug on the counter behind me and grabs my left hand. I try to look away. He catches my chin in his other hand, gently bringing it back to gaze up at him. "What happened to you," he whispers. He laces his fingers through mine. I pull my hand away.

"I need to go." My eyes are burning. Tears threatening to spill over. I want this so bad. And that's why I can't have it. "Thank you again for last night, and I… I'm sorry Damon." My voice quivers in a whisper as his name leaves my lips. I walk quickly to the front door, wiping a tear from my cheek as I go.

"Elena. Don't go. Please."

I pretend not to hear him as I slip out the front door and down the stairs.

 **Love will win. Our girl isn't there yet, hang in there.**

 **Also... seriously, feel free to let me know your preferences on chapter length and if you'd rather wait to have length.**


	9. Chapter 9 -Pretenses

***timidly peeks around corner* Hi! So it turns out that moving and starting a new job over the course of a weekend can really throw your life out of whack for a few weeks! I'm working night shifts for a bit, which I _thought_ would be great for writing... my muse thought otherwise. The point is, what was going to be a quick next chapter just now got finished. If it's any consolation, this chapter got finished before all my boxes got unpacked ;) Lol, enough with the disclaimers. On we go:**

The heat radiates through me despite my body's attempt at cooling itself off. Sweat is still running in little rivulets toward my mat towel. Every muscle fiber in my body is completely spent; exhausted. My lungs pull air in and out at a pace that is beginning to slow. I try to focus of the cool breeze of the air grazing my upper lip as I breathe in and out through my nose, trying to silence my thoughts for ten minutes of peace. It's all to no avail. Goddamn Deena. I mean bless her really, but...

"We make decisions from two places. From love or from fear. Fear is easy sometimes, and that's ok. Let it be ok. But also, don't let it be forever. Trust in your strength. Trust your strength. Make decisions from love. Thank you for letting me guide your practice today, for your energy, for your breath. The space is yours as long as you need it. When you need to go, please do so quietly and carefully. Namaste."

Deena's words at the beginning and now the end of yoga are just the latest in the string of punches the universe has thrown my way over the last two weeks. She's not wrong. It's actually something I'd say at the beginning and end of one of my classes. It's just funny the way the universe has jokes and is relentlessly trying to pound something into my head. Whelp, no use staying here anymore. Zen broken.

I quickly stand, fold my sweaty towel, roll my mat, grab my empty water bottle and make my way across the soft cork floor to the exit. After a quick shower and a change of clothes I make my way back out to the lobby.

"Thanks for such a great class Deena." I smile as I pull my sunglasses over my face and tighten my jacket around me.

"Hey girl! Thanks for coming! I love it when your flexible ass is in my class. It always motivates me to lay off the cookies."

"Ha!" I smile and she grins back at me with a shrug. This girl has an entire calorie allowance for cookies I swear. You'd just never know it by looking at her.

"Talia and I are doing sushi for lunch in a few. You in?"

"Ooh, rain check? I have a hot date." I wink.

"Ok, but I want details over this rain check sushi. You've been out with this mystery date almost every day for the last two weeks. Time to start talking girl!"

I tighten my ponytail and laugh as I walk out the door. "See you soon babe." I toss over my shoulder.

͚

A warm glow of pure joy fills my chest as I walk down 71st St and see him sitting at out table. There are still plenty of clouds in the sky, but there's enough sun shining through that his white hair practically glitters. His signature tweed fedora rests on the table, a matching jacket pulled around him. I open the patio gate and weave around crowded tables until I reach ours.

"Well hello there love, how was yoga today?" He grins up at me with a twinkle in his eye that I've become addicted to. I never knew my grandparents but this sweet little man has given me a lifetime's worth of grandparent-ly love in the weeks I've been here.

"Ugghhhhh," I moan, "It was so therapeutic. I love it when Deena teaches." Our table is under a heat lamp so I take off my coat, hoping my sweater will keep me warm enough. "Did you order yet?" I notice that the table is empty.

"Not yet love, I thought I'd wait for you."

"Well, what would you like? It's my turn to treat today and I'm starving, so you better get something to eat as well so I don't feel bad eating like a pig in front of you!"

"Oh you don't have to do that dear, your company is enough for me."

I roll my eyes and stare at him, "Laying it on thick today huh? I'm still not taking it easy on you, today's chess match is all mine."

His laugh is a heartfelt and airy chuckle that makes his shoulders shake. "Oh alright then, just a regular coffee, cream no sugar. Maybe one of those green biscuits if they have them"

He means the almond matcha croissants. I'm pretty certain I could survive on those alone for quite a while. I made him try mine last week and he's now hooked as well. I'll get him a chicken salad sandwich as well. I carry his coffee in one hand, our sandwiches stacked in the other. My hazelnut macchiato should be out shortly, along with fresh warm croissants. I'm salivating already.

I put the sandwich in front of him and he begins to protest. I cut him off before he begins. "It's just a sandwich Gunther, you're looking a bit thin and I can't have you blaming your defeat on hypoglycemia today." I smile and settle in my chair basking in the warmth of the heater overhead.

"Alright then, thank you my dear." He smiles and speaks softly as he organizes the chess board between us.

Gunther has been an absolute godsend these past few weeks. I saw him a few times after that first day, and each time he greeted me with a warm smile and a "Hello Elena." It sounds a little cheesy, but it was just nice to have someone remember my name ya know? When it wasn't embroidered on my lab coat.

The day I left Damon's, or tear-gate as I'm now referring to those couple days, I came here in the afternoon to think a few things out. Gunther was here and we've met every day I haven't had to work since then. Sometimes we just sit and enjoy each other's company, once we took our coffee to-go and went for a walk around Greenlake. I was hit with memories like a punch to the gut and we haven't done that again. But my favorite days, days like today, we play chess.

I'm actually a pretty miserable chess player. But Gunther is patient and I'm getting better. I dig into my turkey-avocado sandwich just as the waitress brings our croissants and my large steaming macchiato. He nibbles at his sandwich as I finish mine, but he guzzles his coffee and is on his second cup as we begin our first match.

"How is Alex and Sarah? Are they as excited to come visit as you are to have them? That's coming up soon right?" Alex and Sarah are his grand children. The absolute apples of his eye. They live with their parents somewhere in the midwest… Chicago, I think.

"Yes dear, Thanksgiving is soon, next week." He looks at me pointedly and I shrug bashfully. It's hard to keep track of days, holidays are no different than regular days in my business. Which is both sad and comforting all at once. He continues, "I suppose they're excited. Although I doubt as much as me, that'd be hard to do. Did I show you their latest photos?" He beams as he pulls his wallet out of his back pants-pocket.

He has shown me, but I smile and lean over to see again. "They're absolutely beautiful Gunther. She has your eyes and he has your smile. Their parents are definitely in trouble in a few years."

"What about you love? Surely you've got plans for the holiday. What is it kids are calling it now days? Friendsgiving? That cute little blonde and you getting together?" I think Gunther has kind of a crush on Caroline. She came with me one day for coffee and he was quite smitten.

"I'll be working that day, and I hear the hospital cafeteria has a full spread all planned out for us. Should be delicious." I try to sound excited. I wasn't kidding though, holidays are just like any other day.

"What about that handsome fellow from across the street? You ought to see what he's doing. He doesn't have much family either." I sigh. Gunther is also quite smitten by Damon as it turns out. 47 is across the street and I suspect Gunther might enjoy a beverage or two there on occasion as well.

"I'm working Gunther." I repeat.

He locks me in a contemplative gaze. The silence is beginning to make my skin crawl, my muscles twitch with the sudden need to move by the time he speaks again. "It's okay to need people, Elena. We're all each other has." I hold his gaze, shocked still by his words. He breaks my trance with a wave of his hand over the chess board and "Your move," as he takes another sip of coffee. The double meaning is not lost on me.

Over the last few weeks Gunther and I have talked a lot. The activities we do always vary, but the constant has been easy-flowing conversation. We haven't solved the worlds problems by any means, and I don't feel a need to pay him a therapist's fee by any stretch of the imagination. We stick to simple light topics. We share memories, experiences. We talk about travel and places we've been. We debate the finer points of important topics like whether we'd rather eat hot dogs for every meal six days a week or survive on $2 a day for food. The would you rather questions are my favorite.

The point is, things haven't gotten personal. Or at least I didn't realize they had. Gunthers wise little old eyes just stared straight into my soul to pull that one out.

Things with Damon have been… weird. I don't know what I'd say if I answered his calls so I just haven't. At first his messages were simple. "Hey, can we talk?" "Hey, let's meet for lunch, call me." "Elena, I just want to talk to you." The last one was from last Saturday night at about 2:30am. I could hear the disappointment -or perhaps resignation- in his sigh at the fact that I'd sent his call to voice mail again. His voice was sandpaper-gritty and raw with a whispered "I miss you," before he clicked off the line. I hadn't heard from him since.

I suppose that's what I'd wanted to have happen. Give up what I had and the potential I felt to avoid the heartbreak I'll inevitably feel later. I had also been under the impression that I'd been playing the "I'm fine" roll better than I apparently have been. The truth is that I wasn't prepared for the emptiness that was left in my chest when I pulled away. I wasn't prepared for it to hurt. And it did. It does. That's why I know I'm doing the right thing. If it hurts this much now, I can't imagine how it would have hurt later.

I stare at the chess board searching for a move that isn't there. I'm stuck. He's got me beat in no more than three moves. Shit. I sigh and Gunther just smiles.

͚

(one week earlier)

"I'm not in the mood for more of your shit today man."

Alaric is just looking at me waiting for me to take the bait. We've just finished packing up our sails after another jump from Tiger. He spent the whole of the time on I-90 grilling me about why Elena wasn't coming again this week. And why she hadn't been at Carolines party. And why she'd bail on Jenna's lunch. And what the hell happened after the last time he'd seen her the night she came into the bar in tears.

I'll be damned if I'm gonna tell him either. There's no way I'm admitting to the guy that I told Elena I wanted to date her and she ran for the hills and has been radio silent since then. I'm definitely not admitting to calling her this week and messaging her with no response. Even though I can see that she's read the messages. And I'm for sure not owning up to the fact that the anguish in her eyes that last morning still haunts me every time I close my eyes.

"I'm just saying, I miss her snark. It's not fair that she's punishing me for whatever you did."

"Who's to say she didn't jut realize what a pompous ass you were and decide she had better things to do?" I try a smirk as we load the gear in the back of the MDX. He doesn't buy it.

He rolls his eyes. "Fine, we'll make tonight a guys night then."

We haven't had a good old fashioned whiskey and cigar night for a while. "Your tux clean?"

A sly smile spreads across his face at my question. Canon is the greatest whiskey bar in the country in my opinion. It's got this great mahogany and red velvet old-school gentleman's club vibe. The air is rich, the lighting dim, the smell of cigar smoke hints at centuries of gentlemen in smoking coats filling the bar although it's only actually been open for five years. Most importantly, it boasts a whiskey list with over 2,000 options on it. Anything from the standard dive bar $6 pour to my favorite $1200 a glass of Rohrer's straight old rye from the 19th century. It's one of the few places in this hipster town where tailored suits are a must, tuxes are preferred, and skinny jeans, vans, and man buns are not allowed.

"So I'll tell Jenna to not wait up then?"

"That'd probably be best." I'll call her myself later and promise to return him unharmed and untainted by my 'perpetual peter-pan complex' as she last put it. That sounds misleading. Jenna adores me, she really does. Kind of like a little brother that she never knew she wanted. Tonight was going to be a good night.

͚

It's not the whiskey. I'd like to blame it on the exorbitant amount of whiskey I'd consumed, but it's not that. I don't want to admit the truth to myself, but it's becoming glaringly obvious. My dick is about as hard as chewed bubble gum. Yes you're seeing correctly, it's inside the warm wet mouth of the girl on her knees in front of me and I just can't make it do anything. She's nice enough I'm sure, she's got a mouth like a vacuum, and honestly this has never happened to me. What's my problem?

My problem is that I need to get laid. It might not seem like a big deal to some of you out there that I haven't gotten laid in a week, but it's almost unheard of for me. That's a problem but it's not _the_ problem. _The_ problem is that for the last three weeks I've been inside and tangled around and on top of and underneath one Elena Gilbert. Actually, come to think of it that wasn't a problem either, or at least it was a problem that I very much enjoyed. The problem now is that I couldn't bring this girl back to my place. I didn't want to taint the memory of the time I bent _Elena_ over the back of my leather couch and she pushed her ass into me and moaned as I slammed repeatedly into her until we both came. Similar situations regarding the kitchen, dining room table, hallway, bathtub, and of course my bed. So I splurged for this penthouse at the W.

The problem now is that I wrap her hair around my fist and it's not as soft or shiny as it should be. Her tits are a little too big, her ass not quite enough. The goddamn problem is that this chick is not Elena goddamn Gilbert. And my cock has clearly received the message that my brain has not. If it's not Elena, it turns out I don't want any.

Guys night was everything it was supposed to be up to this point. Canon was as expected. Ric was the practiced wing man, the whiskey was as smooth and warming as usual. The women were stunning and dressed in the finest satin, lace, and diamonds with stilettos abounding. It wasn't hard to choose one to have the pleasure of my company for the rest of the evening. I'm not saying that to be an asshole, just stating facts. There were plenty interested –this smirk and these eyes with my reputation (or the reputation of my bank account) always do the trick. And from them there was only one with long dark hair. And sure her eyes were green, but I was craving brunettes. So the choice was easy.

The driver we hired dropped Ric off at home, intoxicated but unscathed as promised. But now here we are, and it's just. Not. Working. The discarded high-end gown is beautiful where it landed on the floor, the fuck-me heels were still on and still great, but all I wanted was one pair of yoga pants and running sneakers. The girl in front of me takes a break to breathe and looks up at me with a smile. I rub her cheek and try to let her down gently. "I'm sorry baby, it's just not going to happen tonight. I'll call the driver back to take you home." She pouts, but I stand anyways, pulling my pants back up, having no trouble getting my still soft cock back inside the zipper. I leave my shirt off as I message the driver who is apparently still downstairs. I knew there was a reason I hired him.

"Alright, he's downstairs. You have a good night now sweetheart."

She huffs bitterly but walks out the door anyways. I lock it behind her. Let me give you ladies a little tip. If a guy that you just met calls you baby or sweetheart, it does not mean that he's ready to take you home to mom and start looking at your pinterest wedding board. It likely means that he's forgotten your name and doesn't want to risk calling you the wrong one. Just so you know. Don't hate the messenger.

I grab one more small bottle of whiskey from the mini bar and down half of it on the way to the shower. I down the other half as I let the hot water and steam wash the smell of my failed hook up attempt from my skin. I'm pleasantly numb again by the time I dry off and slip beneath the covers. I check my phone before plugging it in to charge for the night and there are no new messages.

I vaguely remember dialing the number I can't forget. I remember the sound of her voice on the recorded message, I remember saying something like "I miss you," into the phone, then I'm pretty sure I hung up before setting the phone down and passing the fuck out.

͚

(present day)

It's been a relatively slow evening at 47. I'm drying a few of the glasses just out of the washer while shooting the shit with Todd when I see him walk through the door. Right on schedule. His hunched over gait and the tap of his can as he crossed the floor make me smile. He sits at his usual seat at the bar, taking his fedora off his head of thinning white hair.

I start pouring his whiskey as I greet him with, "Hey old man." And I say that with all the endearment in the world. Sincerely.

"Hello my boy."

"How was chess today?"

"Saw that did ya? I figured you did. Was hopin' you'd come join us. Glad I didn't hold my breath."

"Let's not be melodramatic, what reason would I have to-"

"Listen my boy, let's not beat around this here bush any more shall we?" He cuts me off and effectively silences my reply. "I've been listening to ya for a couple weeks now, and the time for that has passed. Do you know what I did today?"

I inhale preparing to reply but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand and continues. "I listened to that sweet girl talk for hours. I looked in her lost eyes and drawn in cheeks and I listened to her talk about the different sounds her neighbor's dogs make when they chase each other around. I listened to her talk about her job a little sure, but mostly just listened to that beautiful girl talk about things that are filling her life now. Things like the sounds her neighbors dogs make. Because she thinks that matters. That girl is lonely, she is lost, and she is terrified.

"I suppose she'd be right upset if she knew I was tellin' you all this, but here we are. She puts up a good front, but she's eating herself alive from the inside out. I'm not going to go spilling all her secrets, I reckon she doesn't even know I know most of them on account of that happy air she puts on about her. But she and I are cut from the same cloth my boy.

"And I'll tell you this. Her entire life has been spent working her arse of to get somewhere and make something of her life. Her entire life has been consumed with this dream, this goal. And now that she has it she doesn't know quite what to do with herself. So she's a little lost. And she spends so much time in her apartment that she know's the different foot prints of her neighbor's different dogs. Sure she goes out sometimes too… she's got yoga, she's got her lunches with me, and she's got her work.

"And take it from me boy, that work will consume her if she let's it. It's gonna be right easy for her to get lost in it. It's what she knows. And she is so much more than her work. A fire that burns that bright can't be lost in her work. She can enjoy it sure, she can and will excel at it, because that's also all she knows, but a lass like her needs something else. And a wrinkled old man isn't it. No matter how handsome I may be.

"Nuh," He cuts me off again with a wave of his hand. I didn't know Gunther had this much air in his lungs. The highlight of my night most nights is shooting the shit with him for an hour or so, but who knew he was so long winded…

"But I promise you, there's a voice deep in her soul right now that is whispering 'Now what' and it's making her restless. That voice was fine when she was going out with your little group of friends, because it was so good for her. She needs people, my boy. And I know she hurt you, I know she walked away, but I'll be damned if I let you let her walk away. That girl has had nothing but people leave her and give up on her. She expects it. And it's not too far of a stretch to see that she's decided it's best to protect herself the only way she's ever known."

Silence slowly fills and then roars like a fire around us. I stare at a knot in the mahogany of the bar, leaning back against the counter with my arms folded across my chest. I lift my gaze and Gunther is looking at me expectantly and patiently at the same time. Giving me time to process.

"Gunther," I start small, "I called her every day for a week. Every call went straight to voice mail. Every message unanswered."

His facial expression doesn't change for several seconds. He just stares at me as if waiting for me to continue. When I don't take the hint he prompts, "And?..."

"What do you want me to do? I like her. I felt something for her. She chose no. She's choosing no."

"Oh my boy, she's not. She's choosing fear."

"Then she's going to have to choose something else. But she has to do it."

"Aye my boy, she does. But you can show her that she still has a choice." He takes his wallet out of his back pocket and slides a crisp $20 across the bar. I slide it back.

"You know your money's no good here. Now can I call you a cab?"

"Just add it to my tab then, I suppose," He smiles a twinkling smile. "And no, I suppose my driver should be here soon." He stands from the bar stool, re-assembles his coat and hat and turns to go. He turns back for a moment, "You'll think about what I said, won't you?"

I smile at his persistence more than anything, and nod.

 **I love little Gunther :) Let me know what you think... how are we doing?**


	10. Chapter 10 -I'll Be Seeing You

**Hi friends! Still here. I assure you I've not given up on this story. The characters speak loudly and often in my brain, I just need them to do so when I have a moment (or days) to write. Thanks for hanging in there! So, last we left our friends, Elena had cut off all ties to not only Damon but the rest of her friends except Gunther. She put on a brave front (she thought) but Gunther called her out on her fear and loneliness and then ratted her out to a resigned Damon without her knowledge... Let's continue :)**

The air is hollow in the cavernous vaulted ceilings above me, filled with a silence that you feel to the depth of your bones. One banner of the group of 18 gently sways back and forth in a sea of stillness near the entryway that is now closed off. I briefly wonder if the place is haunted. There's a crisp chill to the sterile air which smells slightly of bleach. Lights from the traffic twinkle in the darkness of the light outside the wall of windows. I'm not sure what I'm doing here. Don't look at me like that… ok, you're right. I know exactly what I'm doing here, and so do you.

The bench underneath me creaks as I shift my weight. My fingers glide mindlessly, effortlessly across the ivory as it begins to warm under my touch. I haven't played in years and yet as the melody echos down the surrounding hallways of the present, memories echo in my mind; The calming sound of rain drops slanting into window panes and my mothers smiling face. My mother had a thing for Chopin. Nocturne was her favorite; specifically Op. 9 No. 2. She begged both my brother and I to play it every chance she got, and that's what I find myself playing now.

The melody calms my nerves as I hear a set of footsteps squeaking on the linoleum floor, slowing as they come closer. The steps are heavier than her normal cadence. She's tired, I think to myself as my fingers continue to play. Then again it is two o'clock in the morning. I hear her stop short as she enters the otherwise abandoned lobby. My fingers slow to a still as I turn over my shoulder. It's been two weeks since I've seen her. She's frozen in place several yards away looking at me with the trepidation of a caged animal.

"What are you doing here?" She asks nervously. I briefly wonder if this was a good idea when I see her hand grip a portable phone, probably ready to call security.

"I come bearing gifts," I start, grabbing the two steaming cups off the baby grand I'd been sitting at. She briefly glances at the coffee before lifting her still-wary gaze back to me.

"Damon, it's the middle of the night. This is a hospital. You can't be here, how did you even get in?"

"I told security in the ER that I was bringing you coffee." I smile as I lift my caffeinated peace offering but her suspicious gaze remains locked on my face. "Please don't kick me out… I just… I wanted to see you." Her eyes soften a micro-fraction.

The truth is I remembered the day that Ric said he hijacked her for lunch one day and figured work was as good of a place as any to start. Gunther wasn't wrong, she was here a lot. So tonight I had Ric finish the closing of the bar and I stopped by Big Foot Java on my way over. I'd convinced Caroline to let me know that Elena was on call tonight.

"Do you have a second?"

She moves closer, her gaze shifts to the coffee in my hands then back to my face. I'm in unchartered waters here. Never before have I pursued a woman like this after she walked away from me. I'd like to say that I have more pride in myself than that, but this isn't about my pride. It's about the fact that I tried to stay away and to invest my time in ...other opportunities, and I can't get her out of my head. I don't know what that means, but I do know that I have to try to figure it out. Especially since there's a chance the old man was right…

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"I didn't know you played." It's not an answer to his question, but I _am_ intrigued. I heard the melody as soon as I walked out of the ICU down the hall. I honestly thought they had the piano set to auto play. Normally they do that in the evening to combat the chaos of evening visitors, but it usually is silent by the time they close the main entrance at 9pm.

It's been a horrendously long day and it's almost over. Truth be told I was planning on sitting in one of the lounge chairs in the lobby and listening to the automated piano play for a bit before going to the on-call room to get a couple hours of sleep.

Damon's looking at me expectantly. He asked me a question… what was it again? My feet are moving me closer to him and before I realize it, he's scooting over to make room for me on the bench and handing me one of the cups of coffee.

"Thank you." I whisper, sipping gratefully.

He smiles.

"Damon, I-" I don't know what to say. Every cell in my being is sighing relief that he's here. I've missed him more than I realized. "-will you play something else?"

His fingers reach forward and the delicate melody they make is at odds with the toned musculature of his strong arms.

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Her soft cheek brushes my shoulder as I finish the song. Then it rests heavier. My fingers still and I look down. She's fallen asleep. Her hands wrapped around her coffee cup, her face relaxed and at peace in a way consciousness doesn't allow. I would willingly let my ass mold to this bench if it meant I didn't have to disturb her, but I'm not thrilled about the prospect of where her coffee will land when sleep loosens her grip on the cup she's holding.

"Hey," I whisper. Tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. She inhales deeply and opens her eyes.

"Oh my god. Sorry. I..." Her cheeks flush. "I was on my way to sleep for a couple hours when I heard you."

"Long night?"

Her eyes grow cloudy, worry furrows the space between her eyebrows. "You could say that."

There's so much we should actually be talking about. But now is clearly not the time. "C'mon." I stand offering her my hand. She follows. "Can I walk you?"

She doesn't let go of my hand. "Ok." She whispers.

We walk in silence around empty hospital corridors until we come to a small hallway of doors labeled on-call rooms. She turns toward me and she's so close that the lapels of her lab coat brush the front of my shirt. She still hasn't let go of my hand. She links her fingers through mine and looks up through long eyelashes and her chocolate eyes lock with mine.

"It was good to see you Damon."

I lift my hand that's not linked with hers and let my thumb brush the softness of her cheek. "When can I see you again?" I don't think I'm wrong in feeling like we've broke through something tonight. Small though it may be.

"Can I call you tomorrow?" She asks.

"I don't know, tomorrow's a busy day for me..." I trail off with a smirk and fear creeps back in her eyes. She pulls back a micro fraction before I continue, "Of course you can. Get some rest superhero." I lean in and let my lips brush her cheek. She smiles just a bit before disappearing through the door. I can't stop the smile that takes over my face as I turn and start my journey to find the emergency department I came through.

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My forearm burns like it's on fire, but as I unabashedly stare at the shine of my hair I remember why it's worth it. I still maintain that as soon as I win the lottery I'm going to hire someone to blow out my hair for me every day. I feel almost human again as I wrap the cord to the blow dryer and slide it into the cupboard. I was able to sleep uninterrupted for the remainder of my on-call shift last night and then came home to sleep a couple more hours before going to yoga –to practice this time, not teach.

There's something about sweating out the last couple days of work that rejuvenates me like nothing else can. It's like hitting the reset button. That coupled with a nice hot shower and fresh clean hair that no one's coughed in or nearly bled on or… well, you get the idea. I run my fingers through a couple more times just for good measure and then go to grab my phone to call Damon. It buzzes as I'm picking it up. I don't recognize the number calling, but the hospital routes calls through so many numbers its hard to keep them straight.

"Dr. Gilbert," I answer.

"Elena?" Asks a voice I don't recognize.

"This is she..." Weird…

"Miss Gilbert, I'm sorry to have to reach out to you under these circumstances, but you're listed as an emergency contact. I have a Gunther Strauss admitted at Virginia Mason emergency department in critical condition. Would you be able to get here soon?"

The words echo in my brain and I feel myself lower into a chair. The empty silence stretches a familiar deep ache across my chest.

"I can be there in twenty minutes." I say with a firmness I don't feel. It's the firmness of auto pilot.

"Please drive safe ma'am, we'll see you soon."

I lower the phone from my ear, I don't think I even disconnect the call as I grab my keys and jog to the elevator.

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My dark grey t-shirt clings to the thin layer of sweat on my back. It probably would have been faster to run here from the bar, I-5 was it's standard fucking mess. It's been 30 minutes since I got the call, and I just pray I'm not too late. I breeze up to the registration desk trying to maintain a semblance of calm that is in no way genuine to what is going on in my head.

"Damon Salvatore for Gunther Strauss? I got a call."

"One moment please sir." The woman behind the desk pushes a button on some sort of high-tech walkie-talkie thing hanging from her neck. When it beeps she continues, "I have a Damon Salvatore, are you ready for visitors?"

"Yes, there's already one back here, so no more after this please." Says a slightly mechanical voice.

"This way Mr. Salvatore." She pushes a button and I hear the door unlock. I step through and she directs, "Take a left and the end of this hall, third then third door down on your right, room R3." She says with a sympathetic smile.

"Thank you," I say as I rush down the hall the direction she pointed. I'm ill-prepared for the scene that greets me as I push past the curtain next to the placard that says R3 on it with 'resuscitation' in little letters underneath.

Gunther's small frame takes up a fraction of the gurney he's laying on. His spirit is so larger than life, it's shocking to see him so small and frail looking. His skin is a dusky yellow-grey. His eyes are closed and there are tubes and wires everywhere. His chest is rising and falling at an irregular rate, and his belly looks… well, huge. It's the only part of him that doesn't look dwarfed by the cavernous room and the equipment filling it.

As if that wasn't a swift enough punch to the gut, to the right of his stretcher is a very tiny Elena on the edge of a chair, her hand resting under his, her body leaning protectively near him. The hollow look in her eyes as she looks up at me and the commotion I make sliding past the curtain in a panic is one I won't be forgetting any time soon. Her normally warm radiant face is gaunt, traces of what used to be makeup remain under tear soaked cheeks, small flecks of mascara have slipped under her eyes. Her eyes that are normally such a warm liquid chocolate brown are hollow, empty, cold, and afraid.

This is a level of vulnerability that I've never seen in anyone before. The fact that it's coming from one of the strongest women I know compounds the strength of the punch I'm hit with as I take in the scene before me. My feet carry me forward, Elena slides into the chair next to the one she is currently in without loosening her grip on Gunthers hand. This opens a spot for me to sit, I sink in the chair, my hand coming to rest on top of Gunthers, sandwiching his cool hand between ours.

A tear slips down my left cheek. I'm speechless as I gaze at him. I turn my gaze to Elena and manage to get out a tortured whisper, "What happened?"

She wipes the tears from her cheeks with her other hand and looks up at me. "He had a ruptured aortic aneurism." I feel my face contort in confusion as she continues, "One of the big blood vessels in his abdomen got a tear in it and it popped. They couldn't get him to the operating room fast enough, they couldn't get him enough blood to make a difference… he..." She breaks in a sob. "We're letting him go the way he said he wanted. We turned off the ventilator a few minutes ago but he's still hanging on."

That's a lot to process in 30 seconds. A few more tears slip unnoticed down my face. I feel my mouth open and close a few times but no words come out. "He can hear you if you want to say goodbye." Her voice cracks on the last word and I feel her hand squeeze his underneath mine. I squeeze back.

"You know there's better ways to get out of settling your tab you know," I manage half a smile that I don't feel at all. "There aren't words for this, old man. You know words aren't really my thing." I feel myself slipping into conversation mode as though we were closing down 47 on a slow Tuesday night. "I'll miss you buddy. Go hug your Nora. I'll try to hold the fort down here. There'll always be a spot for you at 47 if you want to come by… but no creepy haunty shit, ok?" I soak in the silence for a few moments before I continue. "Thank you Gunther. For everything," my voice barely above a whisper. I squeeze his hand gently and the tips of my fingers brush the warm side of Elena's hand. I spare one more glance at her hollow gaze. She's smiling as she lifts her other hand to brush across his forehead. Tears are still free-flowing down her cheeks.

He lets out what sounds like a relieved sigh and then everything goes still. My gaze follows Elena's to the monitor above our heads. If I hadn't known what all the straight lines on the monitor meant, the feeling that settled in the room would have been enough to tell me. Gunther was gone. I felt Elena stand next to me, lean forward and place a gentle kiss to his forehead. I squeeze his hand one last time as I stand and then let it go to catch Elena as she turns toward me. I envelop her in my arms wishing I could shield her from this more than anything. Then the thought occurs to me, she sees this shit every day right? How does someone ever get used to this? This is the first time I've ever seen anyone die and the turmoil of sadness and inexplicable emptiness rolling around my chest and head are impossible to quantify.

I find myself rubbing her back in calming circles as I feel her shake closer to my chest. Her hands are fisted and clinging to my t-shirt as though I could ever let her go. A few tears of my own continue to slip errantly down my cheeks, and I hear a soft "SsshhSsshhSshSshSsh" come from my throat. I'm not sure if I'm talking to her or myself. I feel, more so than hear Elena take a deep breath against me before she straightens to stand tall, the fingers of both hands wiping at her face. I loosen my hold on her but she stays within the circle of my arms as she looks up and mutters a soft, "Sorry," then steps back. I can see her walls going up in front of my eyes, and I can't even blame her.

"How do you do this every day?" I ask truly mystified. I turn to face the body that used to hold our dear friend and just stare.

"It's different." She says quietly. "You learn to separate yourself from it a little bit. It sounds cold, but you can't let yourself feel all the pain or you'd be gutted from the inside out every day. You learn to process it, you learn to cope, and you learn to separate yourself from it." Her voice is so soft it's almost a whisper as she continues.

"But it's different when you're on this side of the stretcher. It's different when the loss _is_ your own. When it's someone you love. Nothing can really prepare you for that. The worst day of loving someone is the day that you loose them. And that never gets easier."

I turn back to see her arms wrapped around her waist, her cheeks dry, her eyes still empty. I want to comfort her but I honestly have no idea how. I have no idea how to process any of this. The people that I've lost in my life are still alive, I just lost them by their choice. Hell, even my grandparents are still alive. A couple kids from my high school class died in a car accident and that's the closest I can recall to dealing with death on a personal level. There's a depth behind her words that lets me know she's much more familiar with this brand of loss.

"I just..." I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. "What do we do now? Why did they call us? Where's his family? How do we contact them?"

"He didn't have any family close. He has one son who lives in Chicago. He's on the way with his family but they couldn't make it in time. I was listed as a local contact, I'm assuming you were as well." I let that sink in for a minute as she continues, "The hospital has a copy of his POLST on file. It's a form that… outlines his wishes in case of an emergency like this. It was pretty clear that he didn't want any heroic measures to be taken. When I got here I called Gary and let him know how his dad was doing. He was firm in his support that Gunther wouldn't want to be kept alive by any artificial means. Although quite frankly artificial means weren't going to be enough for much longer."

That seems a little cold to me, but I continue to listen as Elena expands, "He said they'd had the best time ever when they were out for Thanksgiving and he was ok with having that be the memory he was left with. Apparently Gunther plied him with whiskey one night as they sat up reminiscing about Nora. Gunther went on for some time about all the good memories and at the end told Gary that he wanted to go the same way she did. Quietly and peacefully. No machines involved."

Her eyes still have an emptiness to them that is flat out eerie, but her face is drawn in sadness with a twinge of calm. "That's pretty much how he went." She continues softly. "You really can't ask for a better way to go. It was sudden and painless." She seems like she's trying to convince herself as much as me and tears overflow down her cheeks again. She wipes at them with shaky fingers as she looks at me. "Sorry. Feel free to tell me to stop talking at any time."

I smile back at her because I don't know what else to do. "What now?" I ask.

"They'll take him to the morgue when we're ready for them to. He'll stay there until the mortician from the funeral home he chose can get here. Gary and his family should be here by then, and they can take over everything else. I'm just glad he wasn't alone." She offers a small smile that feels like it might be genuine, and it's the first inkling of hope I've had since I answered the phone expecting to hear Elena's voice, and was greeted by a hospital social worker instead.

She moves closer and wraps her arms around my waist, resting her head on my chest. "Thank you for being here Damon."

I hold her in silence for a moment before replying, "Of course."

We stand together for a few more moments before walking out of the room to let the nursing staff know we were leaving. We were bid farewell by a host of sympathetic eyes and sad smiles.

We reach the parking garage and I pull my keys out of my back pocket. Neither of us has said a word and I'm just now realizing that Elena doesn't have a bag with her and is not making a move to find her keys.

"Where are you parked?" I glance around the near-empty structure.

"I was going to drive but then I figured I'd get here faster if I ran. It's not far from my place, and you know traffic at this time of day. The drive would have taken 20 minutes, I got here in ten..." She puts both hands in her back pockets and I've never seen her look so painfully –conflicted? Unsure?

"Can I give you a ride?" I ask.

"Damon, I-" She takes a breath, "I don't want to be alone. Will you stay with me tonight? Just stay?" She says it quickly as though the words are trying to escape before her brain can force them back in. She looks up at me timidly, hands still in her back pockets.

I'm taken aback, but can only respond with, "Of course." I guide her quietly to my car, open her door, watch her climb in and then shut it behind her softly. As I'm walking around to the drivers side of the car I glance across the roof to the lights of the hospital, lit up in random patterns in the darkness. A strange sense of calm washes over me.

"Goodnight old buddy. I'll miss ya." I whisper to the night air.

 **So... there's that. Please review? Let me know what you think? Scold me for being so inconsistent with updates? (I promise they're all still coming ;) )**


	11. Chapter 11 -Daydream Believer

**Hola friends! Powered through this first half of the update I had planned the other day and then... life. So I figured I'd post this now and then have the freedom to make the next chapter bigger... and with what I have planned bigger may be better ;)**

She's been quiet for almost half an hour and I'm toying with the idea of trying to get some sleep. Again.

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The ride home last night had been mostly silent. The light sound of the misting rain hitting the windshield, the swishing of the windshield wipers, the wet sound the tires made as they pulled water up from the wet pavement. And finally Elena's quiet voice as we I pulled into the guest parking for her apartment complex.

"Thank you Damon. I really appreciate this." She lifted her gaze from her shoes to just below my eyes, not quite making eye contact before looking away. "I just… I don't want to give you the wrong idea, I-"

"Elena. It's fine. I get it. It was a rough night. You don't want to be alone. Your couch is more comfortable than many places I've spent the night. But I call dibs on that cashmere blanket." She smiles on an exhale and a slight nod as we both get out of the car.

My hand finds it's way to her lower back without conscious direction from me as we step out of the elevator and walk down the hall to her apartment. I was starting to wonder if she'd forgotten her keys when she pulled them out of the front pocket of her jeans. She opened the door, set her keys on the hallway table and turned the light on as I locked the door behind us.

"Did you eat?" She asked, turning toward me and wrapping her arms around her waist.

"No. I'm guessing you didn't either?"

"Nah. Not since this morning."

"Take-out?" I ask at the same time she continues "Pho?"

I laugh. "What's your delivery restaurant of choice? I'll call while you change."

"Local Pho on 3rd. They have the best veggie and tofu pho -don't judge."

"No judgement here, veggie and tofu for you… Something else for me." I smirk.

She smiles as she walks down the hall to her bedroom and shuts the door. Ten minutes later My bahn-mi sandwich and her tofu/veggie soup are on the way and she comes back to the living room. Her face is scrubbed clean of the remnants of makeup and tear stains, her hair is in a ponytail on top of her head, her jeans were switched out for yoga pants and I'd bet good money there's at least three layers beneath that oversized hoodie.

She's got my requested blanket, a pillow, and two more heavy blankets with her. "Are we building a blanket fort? Making an igloo?"

She half smiles, "I don't want you to get cold out here." She makes a pile on one end of the couch. It's not exactly cold in here, but I know she feels cold unless it's 75, so I take it as a compliment that she wanted to make sure I was comfortable.

An hour later our takeout containers were empty and I wasn't the only one fighting to keep my eyes open. Elena stretched her arms out in front of her as she yawned and then shivered despite her layers.

"I'm gonna head to bed..." she hesitated before adding timidly, "Look Damon, I feel silly. You don't have to stay here, I'm a big girl. I can-"

"I know you can, superhero. Go to bed. I'll be right out here until the morning."

She looked like she wanted to argue some more, but in the end she nodded and stood. I gathered the empty containers and walked them to the kitchen.

"Goodnight Damon." She almost whispered, again not daring to meet my eyes.

"'Night."

I heard the door click down the hall and then open again, as if she was leaving it open a crack. I smiled as I settled into the couch and pulled the soft cashmere blanket that smelled like her around me and closed my eyes.

I startled awake a few hours later to screams of "NO, COME BACK! DON'T LEAVE ME," and then heartbreaking sobs. I made my way down the hall and peered through the crack in her doorway. Elena tossed and turned in a sea of pillows, sobbing so hard I worried she might choke.

"Hey, hey, hey. Ssshhhhh." I whispered kneeling next to her bed and trying to still her shoulders. "Elena, wake up, I'm right here. Ssshhh." Slowly she stilled and her eyes opened, wet with tears and wide with confusion and terror.

"Damon? What…" She sat up, and looked at me trying to make sense of what happened. It all seemed to click as she looked at me slack-jawed. "Oh no… was I yelling? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"Bad dream?" I feel my brow furrow in concern. I've never seen anyone that distraught.

"Yeah… I guess." She's whispering and looking at her hands again instead of at me. "I haven't had one in a while, I used to get them all the time when I was little. Sorry, I know this is more than what you signed up for. You can go home and get some actual rest if you'd like, I'll be ok."

Did she actually think I'd just leave her in the middle of the night now? "Nah. I'm invested now. Wanna tell me about it?" I doubt she'll go for it, but it's worth a shot.

"Not really. I'm sorry-" Told ya.

"Stop apologizing. You had a bad dream. It happens."

She looks at me quizzically, but lays back down. I bring the covers back up over her shoulders as she turns on her side to face me. She yawns and looks so small and vulnerable I can't help but smile. I let my thumb graze her cheek, "Goodnight pretty girl. Get some sleep." She turns her face to kiss my hand and shuts her eyes.

"Goodnight Damon. Thank you." She whispers as I walk back toward the couch.

The next time she woke up in a sweat screaming I decided to sit in the chair in the corner of her room for a bit. I had just nodded off when she woke up screaming for the third time. This time I crawled onto the bed next to her, pushing the pile of extra pillows to the floor, and held her as her tears dried. She clung to my chest in silence. Her breathing slowed and I sat up resting against the head board. And now here we are. Like I said, I'm still debating on trying to get some more sleep or just staying right here and awake. My decision is made when she gasps and flails her arms searching for something she doesn't want to tell me about. I lay back down and gather her in my arms. She nestles into my chest and stills back to sleep.

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The first thing that occurs to me as consciousness seeps back into my brain is how nice and warm I am. The second thing is that my cheek is definitely laying in a small puddle of drool. Which is why the third thing that occurs to me is mortification. I take in the warm arms around me, the solid chest underneath me, and the strange feeling of safety inside me.

But first things first. I lift my head enough to wipe the drool that had collected in the ridge where his pec meets his abs. He doesn't seem to stir. Phew-

"Good morning."

Shit! I wipe my hand on the sheet behind me and lay back down with a sigh. I hold really still hoping he'll go back to sleep, or at least that he was still asleep when I was drooling…

When my silence stretches on I feel the weight of his gaze as he shifts underneath me. I look up as he says, "Are you awake? You should go back to sleep, you barely slept at all. It was like sleeping with a tornado." He adds the last part with a kiss to the top of my head and a smirky smile that I can't be mad at.

Dear god. I thought the drool was all I had to be embarrassed about. Although… why is Damon in bed with me? Not that I'm complaining, but I remember going to bed on my own. Fuzzy memories come back of Damon trying to wake me and kneeling by my bed, but I must have gone to sleep after that...

"Sorry," I mutter as I lay my head back down on his chest. "Did I…"

"You kept having nightmares. You don't remember?"

"Oh god. I'm so sorry. You probably didn't get any sleep at all. How bad was I? I'm so sorry..."

"Nothing to be sorry about, you kept screaming to not leave so after a while I figured it was easier to just stay here. You slept a little better after that… at least for a couple hours. Do you have nightmares often?"

My hand errantly traces patterns on his upper stomach while I try to decide how to proceed. I have to do it before I chicken out again, I know I do, and I want to. It's honestly harder than I thought it would be.

Last night when I admitted that I didn't want to be alone and asked Damon to stay, it was… easy? It was just one thing. One request. And look what happened. Every insecurity I'd had since the first foster home I'd failed came flooding back, welling in the pit of my stomach and causing a tear to overflow and roll onto Damon's chest.

"Hey, what's-"

"My parents died," I blurt out. His hand stills midway through it's pass through my hair. "Not recently or anything, when I was little."

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"No, I just… I wanted to explain. I was going to explain yesterday before my plan to call you to hang out got usurped. Then I went and scared you off I'm sure with all my screaming and-"

"You are so chatty when you're nervous."

"Wha-"

"You didn't scare me off, first of all. Second of all, I love when you talk 97 miles an hour and get all flustered. But I'm not going anywhere. You can take a breath and tell me whatever you want to when you're ready."

I find myself smiling as I take a deep breath. "My parents died when I was little. It was a car crash. I was in the back seat and I was the only one who survive. I didn't really have any other family so I was sent to live in a foster home. I had nightmares almost every night about the car crash. They were so vivid and I'd wake up in hysterical tears night after night. It was a lot for everyone to handle so I got shipped around a lot, from foster home to foster home."

Damon doesn't make a sound, but continues running his fingers through my hair, patiently waiting for me to continue. "I tried so hard for so long to be whatever they needed to be able to keep a family, but nothing stuck. Eventually I guess I just gave up. I was the only person that was constant in my life, so I tried to not get attached to other people. I just focused all my energy into becoming a trauma surgeon."

My fingers resume tracing absent patterns on Damon's chest. "And now- I guess –I just don't know how to open up to anyone. I haven't even wanted to for a long time -since I was a little girl. Gunther made it easy. He was like the parent or grandparent I always wanted but never had. I think loosing him stirred up old feelings from when my parents died and that's why my nightmares came back." I pause a bit before adding, "I really am sorry for that by the way. How many times did I wake you?" I'm genuinely curious.

"My parents disowned me when I was 18." That's not the answer I was expecting. I lift my head up as he sits up and rests against my headboard. I sit up next to him, pulling my long sleeves around my hands so they don't get cold. Damon smirks at me and leans down to grab the comforter, letting me pull it up to my chest as he continues.

"Even before that though there wasn't a lot of love floating around our house. My parents had all kinds of money and dedicated their lives to maintaining appearances. I honestly thing they had my brother and I because that's what was expected of them.

"I realized that the way we grew up wasn't normal in elementary school. The more I saw what authenticity and being truly genuine looked and felt like the more I craved it. I was addicted to pushing limits, to finding the edge, to make myself feel _real_ things, and discovering what _I_ wanted. But the real kicker was when I announced that I was going to NYU to major in English Lit instead of the family UW Business program. I spent that night at the bus station and I'd never been so happy to be honest. I'd had 18 years of pretenses, and I was finally free to live in the real world."

"Wow," I said quietly, looking at my hands. "That's-" I was going to say brave, admirable, but I was cut off when he grabbed my hand and linked our fingers.

"I know the way your eyes light up when you talk about work. I know the child-like pure joy that comes over your face with each cup of coffee you come across. I know that your favorite color is green. I hear you laugh when I close my eyes, I know how free you feel flying down the side of a mountain because I feel the same. I know how to make your toes curl when my tongue-"

"Damon-" I start.

"Ha! Well, I do. The point is, I know a lot of things about you but I feel like I don't really know you. And I'd like to. I'd like this to be real Elena. And I get that that's hard for you. But I can't pick up where we left off. I want more. I want you. All of you. I want to be the person you call because you had a bad dream and can't get back to sleep, so the fact that you woke me up a few times last night doesn't bother me at all. The fact that you calmed down when I held you means the world to me."

"Oh god, I woke you more than once?"

"How did I know you'd focus on that?" He laughs. "Come on, let's make breakfast."

An hour later we're finishing the best pancakes I've ever had. The conversation had been light and easy. I stand to clear our plates and put them in the sink. Damon has moved to the living room and is putting his coat back on getting ready to go.

"I want this too Damon," I almost whisper as I walk into the living room. "That's what scares me so much." There's more that I want to say but I honestly don't know how to get the words out. "Can we make this real, and still be patient with me? I want to try."

At this point I'm looking up at him feeling more vulnerable than I've ever felt. I've basically just offered every insecurity I've ever had to him on a fragile silver platter and said please don't drop this. He smiles an agreement and leans down to press his lips lightly to mine.

"I'll call you tonight superhero."

As I press the door shut behind him I realize I haven't been this excited for anything in a long time.

 **Ok, so Daydream Believer doesn't really have anything to do with this chapter... but it IS the song that I can't get out of my head at the moment... so let's make it work mmk :) More to come soon. Love you all and thanks for reading! xoxo**


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